Cut to the Corpse (23 page)

“Well, how very efficient of you,” Tenley said as she stared in bemusement at her now empty shop.

“I did shower today, I swear,” Brenna said, and Tenley burst out laughing.

“They just want you to tell them who did it,” she said. “How rude of you not to know the answer.”

“That’s me,” she said. “The rude Bostonian.”

“It’s okay, I love you anyway,” Tenley said. “So, the chief called me.”

“He wants you to come in,” Brenna guessed.

“Yes,” she said. “Do you mind watching the shop while I go?”

“Not at all,” Brenna said.

“Is he very mad at us?” Tenley asked.

“Mostly me, I think,” Brenna said. “Given my track record and all.”

“I’ll check in as soon as I’m out,” Tenley said. With a wave, she left, and Brenna sat down at the table to contemplate the rest of the cream puffs and the question of who murdered Clue Parker.

Nothing of any significance came to Brenna that afternoon. She helped Carole Fenton with her music box. She had attended Brenna’s decoupage class months before and had decided to try a music box of her own. It came out well, but her varnish had bubbled so Brenna showed her how to use superfine sandpaper to buff it down and reap-ply so it wouldn’t bubble.

She was just beginning to wonder where Tenley was—surely, she couldn’t still be talking to the chief—when the front door banged open and in strode Jake Haywood.

“Jake? You’ve been released?” she asked.

In his wake danced a beaming Tara, followed by her parents, his parents, and Tenley.

“The judge granted me bail,” he said. “And Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery posted it.”

“Really?” Brenna asked. “That’s fantastic!”

“Given my ties to the community, I’m not considered a flight risk,” Jake said. “Although, I’m sure it helped that Mr. Montgomery has golfed with the judge several times in the past few weeks.”

“I never thought I’d say this,” John Haywood said, “but I think I may have to take up the game.”

He and Tyler shared a strained laugh while the wives gave tight smiles. Jake took Tara’s hand in his as if she were his lifeline and he wasn’t about to let go.

“Jake, what about the boots?” Brenna asked. “I heard they found them in the garage.”

He shrugged and shook his head. “I can’t figure it out. They’re an old pair that I never wear because they’re too small. They’ve been kicking around the garage forever.”

“Did you ever loan them to anyone?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “Actually, I thought I’d gotten rid of them a while ago.”

“Where did they find them?” Brenna asked.

“Shouldn’t we leave this to the police, dear?” Margie asked. “I’m sure Chief Barker will figure it out. He’s a good man.”

Brenna nodded at the gentle rebuke. Margie was right. Jake had just been released; he didn’t need her grilling him like a drill sergeant.

“I’m sorry, you’re right,” she said. “Jake, I’m just delighted that you’re out and I want it to stay that way.”

“Thanks, Brenna,” he said. “I do, too.”

“In any case, it was pretty flimsy evidence based on the crime scene investigator’s report that there was a bloody boot print in the carpet of Tara’s bungalow. They went looking for a pair of boots, but anyone could have planted those,” Tyler Montgomery said. “I’m sure that’s why they gave you a reasonable bail.”

“If you call a million dollars reasonable,” Tiffany said with a sniff.

“I am sorry, ma’am,” Jake said. “I’ll make it up to you, I’ll pay back every penny, I swear.”

“And I’ll help,” John Haywood vowed. “I can never thank you enough for getting my son out of there.”

“Don’t you worry about it,” Mr. Montgomery said. “We take care of our own. We have a ways to go until you’re a free man, but my attorney says they don’t have much in the way of evidence against you. He thinks this case will be, and I quote, ‘a slam dunk.’ ”

“Oh, Daddy,” Tara sighed, and threw her arms about her father in a big hug. She looked over his shoulder at Brenna and said, “We’re all going to the Fife and Drum for a celebratory dinner. Do you two want to come?”

“Oh, that sounds lovely,” Tenley said. Her face turned pink when she added, “But I have plans.”

“Me, too,” Brenna said, not wanting to be the fifth, or in this case, the seventh wheel.

“Another time then?” Tiffany asked.

“Definitely,” Tara and Brenna said together.

They watched the group leave, and Brenna turned to Tenley and said, “You have plans?”

“A movie date,” she confirmed. “With Matt.”

“Whoa,” Brenna said. “When did that happen?”

“While we were sitting in the hall waiting to talk to Chief Barker,” she said. “He asked me out and I said yes.”

Brenna hugged her friend. “I am so happy for you.” “Thanks,” Tenley said. Then she looked at her wristwatch. “Oh, my, is that the time? I have to go. I told Ruby I’d be stopping in for a quick overhaul. Do you mind closing the shop?”

Brenna laughed at the panic in Tenley’s eyes. It was ridiculous because Tenley could show up in a Hefty bag and galoshes and still be a knockout. That’s what flawless skin, capped with long blond hair and big blue eyes, could do for a gal. Honestly, if she didn’t love Tenley like a sister, she’d probably want to back over her with her car.

Tenley left with a wave and Brenna locked the door behind her. What a day! All she wanted to do was go home, pour a glass of wine, and put the murder of Clue Parker out of her mind for a night.

It was difficult, of course. Whenever she thought of the murder, she couldn’t help but wonder who had perpetrated such a vicious crime. The Montgomerys were an obvious pick, but as Tara said they would never put her in danger—besides they were each other’s alibi.

Tara was the next logical choice given that she’d been found in bed with the body and holding the murder weapon, but all the evidence seemed to point to her having been drugged, and Brenna still had a hard time wrapping her mind around Tara being cold-blooded enough to murder someone. Jake was a likely candidate, especially with the boots as evidence, but Brenna couldn’t believe it. Jake wasn’t the murdering kind either. Yes, that was a subjective opinion, but there it was. Besides, the one thing Brenna couldn’t let go of was if Jake had stabbed Clue in a passionate rage then why didn’t he stab Tara as well? Of course, Clue had plenty of exes who wanted him dead, and maybe it was one of them, but none of the ones she’d met so far seemed to have murder in mind. And yet, someone had murdered Clue. There had to be something she was missing.

Then again, with Jake released on bail, maybe it would all be okay. Maybe the chief would discover who the real murderer was and Jake and Tara could have their happy ever after. The thought made Brenna smile.

She cleaned up the shop, putting away supplies and sweeping the floor to gather up all of the stray paper clippings. She emptied the coffeepot, washed it, and put it in the dish rack to dry overnight.

She flipped the sign on the front door to Closed, and turned out the lights. She exited out the back door, which opened into the alley. It was late and the alley was unlit. She had parked her Jeep behind the shop today as the spots in front had all been full.

She had not anticipated closing alone. Perhaps it was an urban flashback, but a whisper of caution skidded over her skin. Brenna paused. She had left through the alley loads of times over the past two years, but tonight it felt different. Maybe it was because she usually left with Tenley, or maybe her Spidey sense was just in overdrive; either way she couldn’t shake the tingling feeling that something was very wrong.

Her years living in Boston had taught her to be cautious, especially alone at night in an alley and she laced her keys through her fingers and kept her pepper spray ready. She walked with her back to the wall, giving herself optimum visibility, the Jeep was just a few feet away now.

A hiss and a screech sounded and Brenna jumped, her feet actually leaving the ground, as a blur of fur sped past her and then another, brushed against her jeans and stomped on her toe.
Cats!

She sagged against the wall. Obviously, knowing there was a murderer out there was getting to her. She pushed off the wall and hurried to the Jeep.

She was just a few feet away when she heard the crunch of steps behind her. She spun with her keys ready to gouge when she was smacked on the back of her knees, knocking her legs out from under her. Before she could brace herself, she hit the pavement, cracking the side of her head on the concrete. A starburst of pain exploded behind her eyes.

“Brenna! Brenna!” The shouts sounded far away, too far to help her. She heard a dog bark. She could hear footsteps running, one going away and one coming closer. She couldn’t tell which one was moving faster.

“Brenna, can you hear me?” It was a man’s voice.

She forced her eyes open, but the large shape looming above her was inscrutable in the dark. Still, she’d know that voice anywhere. It was accompanied by a canine whimper as a big shaggy blond head loomed over her.

“Nate, Hank,” she said. She wanted to tell them to chase her attacker, but her voice failed her as everything went black.

 

“How is she?” a voice whispered. It was a kind voice, and it sounded familiar. Brenna wanted to reply but found she was too groggy.

“She’s suffered a head trauma, but the scan looks good, no signs of fracture or bleeding. She’ll be all right,” said another woman’s voice, which she didn’t recognize. “Right now, she just needs plenty of rest.”

This sounded like a fine plan to Brenna and she let herself be lulled back into sweet oblivion.

She could feel sunlight shining on her face, beckoning her to wake up and face the day. Brenna turned away from it and her head throbbed.

She winced and reached up to press her brain back into her skull, because surely pain like this could only be caused by her brain trying to make an escape, and felt a wad of gauze where her temple used to be.

“What?” She pried her eyes open and discovered she was in a hospital room, mauve and gray, very soothing and somewhat familiar, with a curtain drawn around her bed for privacy.

Tenley was curled up in a contortionist’s position in a green vinyl chair in the corner. She was snoring softly. Brenna realized it was her voice she had heard the night before. She felt her chest squeeze tight with affection for her friend.

“Hey,” a low voice said to her right.
Nate.

She turned and then cringed as a union of hammers pounded on the inside of her skull in response to the sudden movement.

“Sorry,” he said. He leaned on the bed rail to examine her more closely. “How are you feeling?”

“A half step above roadkill,” she said. “What happened?”

“You were attacked,” he said.

His voice was grave, and Brenna knew it was because he was aware of her past, that she operated at a certain level of paranoia at all times because of the robbery that had all but ruined her two years ago in Boston. He probably figured this was going to send her right around the bend.

Probably, a year ago it would have, but she was made of sterner stuff now. She thought about the night before and it came back in flashes; the alley, getting hit, the ambulance ride, the hospital. She even had a vague recollection of getting up in the middle of the night last night to use the bathroom, which was probably why her room seemed familiar.

No, this wasn’t like Boston. She was in much better shape this time, and when she found out who did this to her, she was going to kick their—

“Hey, you’re awake!” Tenley unfolded her leggy length from the chair and moved to the other side of the bed. She took Brenna’s hand in hers. “How are you feeling?”

“Angry,” Brenna said. “I don’t suppose the person was caught?”

Nate took her other hand and squeezed it. “Sorry. Hank and I found you on our way back from getting ice cream at Stan’s. You were unconscious. The only thought I had was to call 9-1-1 and get you to the hospital.”

Brenna understood—she would have done the same—and yet, she was bitterly disappointed. This attack had to be because of the murder. Someone wanted her to stop asking questions and they were being very clear in getting their point across.

“You’re awake, Ms. Miller.” A woman in a white coat walked into the room. “I’m Dr. Gershon.”

While she studied the chart clipped to the end of the bed, Brenna studied her. Dr. Gershon was short and stout, and on the younger side of forty with just a hint of wrinkles in the corners of her eyes and her hair professionally highlighted. She wore severe-looking black-framed glasses, and Brenna couldn’t help but wonder if they were really needed or if she wore them to make herself look smarter.

“Nice to meet you, Doctor,” Brenna said.

“You’ve suffered a head trauma before,” Dr. Gershon said.

Brenna felt both Nate and Tenley stiffen beside her.

“Yes, but it was on the other side,” she said.

“Very good.” The doctor seemed pleased that she knew this one was different. “I’d like to look at your pupils, if that’s all right.”

“Sure,” Brenna said. She moved her eyes the way Dr. Gershon told her to, avoiding direct eye contact with her penlight. She answered a few basic questions and the doctor seemed satisfied. A nurse was called in and together they unwrapped Brenna’s head.

The doctor probed the wound, which smarted, but Dr. Gershon assured her it was just a nasty bruise and that her shoulder had taken the brunt of her contact with the ground. The backs of her knees were badly bruised and it hurt to move her legs, but Dr. Gershon told her nothing was broken. Then they rewrapped her head with enough gauze to stuff a pillow.

“Have you been up on your feet at all?” Dr. Gershon asked.

“The nurse took me on a walkabout earlier,” Brenna said. “I had to use the bathroom.”

“How’d that go?” Dr. Gershon asked.