Death in Reel Time (22 page)

I crossed over to Keepsake Corner to say hello to Marydale. Coco was there, too, and they both gave me a customary hug. As we chatted I decided I must have been imagining the tension with Marydale and Winston. Everything seemed as it always had been.

“Sophreena,” Coco said, “you were a lifesaver with Tina the other day. I didn't have a clue what to say to her.”

“I'm just glad she talked with the police on her own,” I said.

“Yes, well, she talked to Denny on the phone, but she ended up being interviewed by Jennifer, so that didn't go too well. As you know, Jenny can be sort of a snit sometimes. But, anyway, Tina told her she'd been with Blaine that day, though she made out like it was all business. And she did tell Mike, like you urged her to, but I think she gave him basically the same story. Still, if he's not a complete knucklehead he's got to know there was more to it than her trying to get money for the Arts Council.”

“Mike is such a sweetheart. I sure hope they can get through this,” Marydale said. “Though I've got to say I am sorely disappointed in Tina.”

“Me, too,” Coco agreed, “but I honestly don't think anything like this will ever happen again. Tina learned a huge lesson and she realizes now what she's got and how close she came to throwing it all away.”

Marydale nodded, then frowned at me. “Where's Esme?” she asked, as if I might have left her somewhere by accident. As if.

“She's at Olivia's working on the scrapbooks,” I said. “And just being there for her in general.” I told them what we'd found out about Olivia's father. And maybe because I was so relieved to be able to share at least that much of the cause for Olivia's distress, I filled in every grim detail.

“Crikey!” Coco squeaked, a phrase she'd picked up from the year she'd spent in Australia during what she called her post-divorce global gallivant.

“Oh, dear Lord,” Marydale said. “This was a horrible gift.”

“No, it wasn't,” I said. “It's not what she wanted to hear, of course, but I think she's relieved to know and it's helping her understand a lot of things about her mother and her aunt and uncle.”

“What do you do about this sort of thing?” Marydale asked. “I mean, there must be a crime in there somewhere.”

“I told Olivia I'd find out, but I don't think there's much urgency. Esme and I are going out to Crawford with Tony this afternoon to get some footage of the town and the house where Olivia grew up for her video scrapbook. Maybe I'll stop by the courthouse and talk to somebody while I'm out there, though I can't imagine there's much to be done about it all these years later.”

“No, I suppose not,” Marydale said, then cocked her head. “I don't know how I feel about this video scrapbooking deal you're getting into. That's liable to put me out of business if it catches on.”

“Not to worry; it'll never replace physical scrapbooks, Marydale,” I said. “There's nothing like that tactile feeling of paper and actual photos and artifacts. Think of this as complementary. You'll see how nicely they work together.”

A group of customers came in and I said my good-byes and made for the coffee shop. I grabbed a cup of my favorite light roast and settled at one of the outdoor tables, happy the cold snap of the last few days had been sent packing by a stubborn sun determined to have its last days of Indian summer. I pulled out my phone and started punching in a list of the places I wanted to make sure Tony included in the afternoon's shoot. I was so absorbed I didn't notice someone
was standing by my table until a shadow fell over the phone's screen. I looked up to see Michelle Robertson smiling down at me.

I hadn't seen her in a long time and she'd aged noticeably, the salt hairs now outnumbering the pepper ones. “Nice to see you, Sophreena,” she said.

Michelle had been a librarian at Morningside's public library when I was growing up, and she'd patiently helped me with my many and varied research projects. I'd been dead serious about learning how to research, especially after I started helping my mother search for her origins.

“How have you been, Michelle?” I asked. “Can you sit and talk for a few minutes?”

“Just a few,” she said, taking a seat. “I retired last year and instead of all the free time I've dreamt about all these years, I'm busier than ever. I'm tutoring kids at the elementary school and I have to be over there in fifteen minutes.”

“I was just making a list for a project I'm working on with a new friend. I think you know him, pretty well in fact. Tony Barrett.”

Michelle sighed heavily. “Ah, Tony. I love that boy and I'm so proud of him. He's come so far; but he gave us trials and troubles aplenty there for a while.”

“So he tells me,” I said. “But he seems to have left all that behind.”

“Yes, I believe he has,” Michelle said, serious now. “It makes it all worth it. He's got so much talent and so much empathy for people. I think maybe that's what made him act out so much when he was going through his rough spell. He just feels everything, too deeply sometimes. We've enjoyed
spending time with him since he's been back in town. I wish we could have had him stay with us, but Eric and I moved to a condo last year and it would have been tight quarters.”

“I think Olivia likes having him at her house,” I said, wondering if I dared probe any further about Tony's background. “He's helping out.”

“He would do that,” Michelle said. “That was never an issue with Tony; he always wanted to do his part at home.”

“Do you mind me asking what happened that got him sent to juvy? He's pretty free to talk about it, but I didn't ask him any particulars.”

“He'd tell you if you asked. He's never tried to hide it. It was a fight, just a horrible fight. He broke a boy's jaw. So severely the kid had to have surgery to correct it.”

“That's not good,” I said.

“No, it wasn't,” Michelle said. “And, not to excuse what Tony did, because it was wrong, period. It was no way to handle the situation, but I wish some people had been more willing to consider extenuating circumstances. The boy in question, Douglas Brower, had been terrorizing some of the smaller kids for months. He was a bully, plain and simple, but his parents thought he could do no wrong and complaint after complaint just kept getting swept under the rug. You know the Browers?”

I did. They were a prominent family, though not totally accepted by what passed as high society in Morningside, because they were latecomers. They'd lived here only about fifteen years.

“Well,” Michelle said, “one day Tony saw Doug picking on a little kindergartner who was so scared he was crying and
had wet his pants. Tony lost it. He had a lot of anger built up in him and once he started the fight, it all came out. There was no excuse for it, but as I say, I wish people had been more willing to look at all of it. Instead Douglas got a private tutor until he was well enough to go back to school and pick up where he left off being mean to other kids, and Tony got sent away for six months. It hardly seemed fair.”

She took a peek at her watch. “Oh good grief, I'm going to be late if I don't scoot. Call me, Sophreena, and let's get together so we can really catch up.”

As I watched her hurry across the street I caught sight of Daniel coming out of the coffee shop with another guy and a woman. They stopped on the sidewalk and I saw that the woman was Madison Branch. She didn't seem to know what to do with her hands and alternated between jamming them into the pocket of her hoodie and wringing them. The other guy was Alan Corrigan. They talked for a few minutes, each so intent on the conversation they didn't notice anyone or anything else. A woman pushing a jogging stroller had to come to a full stop and give them a loud “excuse me” before they moved from the sidewalk and continued the conversation on the strip of grass by the street. They all nodded in unison, then walked off in opposite directions.

Why was Alan still in Morningside? And since when were he and Daniel so chummy? I thought I recalled Daniel saying he hardly knew Alan. And what in the world was Madison Branch doing with them?

None of it was my business—which made it all the more intriguing.

I had picked up my cup and keys and stood to go when
I noticed a familiar figure approaching from the parking lot. Jack's description had been an understatement. It was Peyton Branch and he looked like he needed a straitjacket more than he needed caffeine. His hair was sticking up like he'd just crawled out of bed after a restless night and his clothes looked like he'd slept in them. He walked by my table and didn't seem to register my presence, or anything else, for that matter.

I called after him and he turned, but I couldn't tell whether recognition had dawned. “Peyton, are you okay?” I asked, pulling out the chair Michelle had vacated and gesturing for him to sit.

“Are you okay?” I asked again.

“Yeah,” he said. “I'm fine as I can be under the circumstances.”

“It's gotta be hard,” I said. “How are your parents doing? And Madison?”

“Well, I know I'm supposed to say they're bearing up well, or they're healing or whatever it is people say. But since you asked, the truth is my mother cries just about twenty-four/seven and my dad is out in the stables or out riding nearly every daylight hour. Madison is holding on by a thread. Like she didn't have enough problems before any of this happened.”

“I'm so sorry,” I said. “I know this has got to be hard for you. For all of you.”

Peyton nodded, but seemed distracted. “How's Beth?” he asked, staring off into the distance at nothing.

“She's—” I hesitated a moment, then decided that if he was offering up the hard truth, I might as well reciprocate.
“She's not good, Peyton, for a lot of reasons. You may as well know she confided in me about how things were with her and Blaine. Are you pressuring her to keep quiet about that?”

“Is that what she said?” he asked, his mouth setting in a hard line.

“No, she didn't, but I know you two have been quarreling.”

“No offense, Sophreena, but that's between me and her. And I hope you're not going around blabbing this stuff all over town.”

“First off, Peyton,” I said, annoyed with him, even if he was grieving, “I don't blab. I would think you'd know that about me by now. Beth told me in confidence and I'll keep it in confidence. The only reason I said anything now is because I know you already know about how it was with your brother and Beth. I'm worried about her. She's close to the edge as it is, so pressure from you could push her over. But, you're right, this is between the two of you.”

Peyton put his head all the way back and stared up at the sky. “Sorry,” he said, so softly I almost didn't hear him. “I'm not myself these days.”

He looked so very tired. I suddenly didn't have the heart to press him. So I tried for something safer, but also perhaps enlightening. “I saw you were out kayaking with Alan Corrigan last week.”

“How did you know that?” Peyton said, his forehead pleating into a frown.

“Was it a secret?” I asked, trying to keep my voice light.

“No, 'course not,” Peyton said. “I just didn't remember seeing anybody when we were out.”

I told him about Tony's video, but the frown only carved in deeper. “Guess there's no such thing as privacy in this town,” he said. He tapped the table lightly with his hand and started to rise, then saw something that made him stop, halfway sitting, halfway standing. His eyes went wide and I turned to look.

Beth was heading our way, coming in from the sidewalk. She wore only a thin cotton tunic and below-the-knee leggings. She had on simple flats that, on closer inspection, turned out to be bedroom slippers. It was nice out, but not
that
warm. She'd clearly been crying and looked like she was about to start up again.

I stood and she ran into my arms with a strangled sob. I looked around, hoping her arrival hadn't caused a spectacle, and was relieved to see only empty tables this far back from the sidewalk. I guided her over to the very back table and sat her down where I could sit opposite and block anyone else's line of sight. Peyton followed, without invitation, and sat down beside me.

“I've been looking for you, Sophreena. I remembered,” she said with a hiccup. “I remembered. There was someone there. It was bad. It wasn't right what I did.”

I reached over to rub her knee and made shushing sounds. “Beth, it's okay, take a breath. You want me to get you some water or something?”

“No, no, don't leave,” she said, grabbing my arm. Her hands were like ice and I could see she was starting to shiver. “Sophreena, I think maybe I did it. I think maybe I killed Blaine.”

I saw Peyton's face turn to stone. He punched in a number on his phone and I was horrified when he said, “Yes, this
is Peyton Branch. Pass me through to Detective Jeffers. Tell her I've got information about the Blaine Branch case.”

Beth sucked in a breath and I grabbed for Peyton's phone, but he pushed my hand away and turned, keeping the phone from my reach. Then my indignation turned to something else as he spoke the next words. “Yes, Detective Jeffers, this is Peyton Branch. I'm coming in to make a statement. I'm the one responsible. I killed my brother.”

B
ETH AND
I
SAT IN
stunned silence as Peyton stalked off without another word. Ideas and images were spinning and colliding like a freeway pileup in my brain.

“That is
not
right,” Beth said in a whisper. “Peyton didn't kill Blaine. He couldn't have. He
wouldn't
have. Never.”

More people were now being lured outside by the sunshine. I had to get Beth out of there. I thought of calling Esme to come pick us up, but then I saw Jack's truck pull into the parking lot. I took Beth by the hand and half dragged her away.