Murdered in the Man Cave (A Riley Reed Cozy Mystery) (11 page)

"Maybe you're right," she said.

"We'll get through this together," Tony told
her.

I wondered if he was already making plans to
move into Brent's home. I thought about his gambling problem. Had
he made any moves to deal with it? Or had he found a new way to
fuel his addiction, now that Emily would likely inherit a lot of
money.

Given that it was really none of my business,
I cast those thoughts aside, wanting only to get through the visit
to the cemetery and the reading of the will.

* * *

Under cloudy skies, the service at the
cemetery was very moving, as Emily and then Ivana said a few words
over Brent's gravesite.

Things changed when Karla spoke. "How could
you do this to me?" she spat bitterly. "You once told me I was the
apple of your life. Then you dump me for someone else." She glared
at Ivana. "We could have made it work if you'd just tried harder.
But no, you didn't have the guts to do that and now look what's
happened. Karma's a bitch!"

She stormed off.

I was appalled by her words, especially the
suggestion that his murder was due to breaking up with her. Was she
somehow suggesting she had something to do with it, in spite of
claiming they were getting back together?

Brent's ex-wives each spoke next, one by
one.

Deidre Carter, Brent's second wife, was first
to offer comments. In her early forties, she wore a black dress and
a matching black hat. "Brent and I had so many great times
together," she said tearfully. "Our marriage only lasted a year,
but we made the most of it. I'll miss you, Brent. Have a good life
in your new existence."

Deidre's husband, Mitt, put his arm around
her as Ashley McGowan, wife number three, stepped forward. She was
my age and petite, with a shapely figure in a dark gray skirt suit.
As always, her crimson hair was perfectly coifed. The hairdresser
we shared worked miracles, which I also benefitted from.

"I loved Brent when we were together," she
said, sniffling, "even if I was a bit insecure that it would never
work." She gave a little chuckle. "In fact, it didn't, lasting only
three years—which I guess beat my predecessor's marriage to him.
Brent and I were just too different and we couldn't seem to
overcome that. Rest in peace, Brent."

Brent's last wife, Margo London, was next. In
her late forties, she was tall and big boned, wearing a dark jacket
and blouse with slacks. She had short, wavy blonde hair and wore
glasses. A successful novelist in her own right, she and Brent
complemented each other in a number of ways—not the least of which
they shared the same occupation. But that was still not enough to
keep them together.

"Brent, I know if you were standing here
instead of me, you'd say don't make a fuss. We all have to go
sometime. Live your own life." Margo sighed and was clearly holding
back tears. "So I'll try not to make a fuss. We had our good times
and we had our bad times. In the end, we managed to hang on to our
friendship, if not the marriage. That's what I'll hold onto
whenever I think of you. Be at peace, my fellow writer."

She walked over to the tall, gray-haired man
she had come with.

Next was Brianna York, my attorney and
Brent's attorney. She was in her early forties, and slender with
blue eyes and light blonde hair, which fell just past her
shoulders. She wore a black dress and matching blazer.

"First of all," she began, "I'm not one of
Brent's ex-wives or girlfriends, thank goodness."

This brought a much needed lighthearted
moment to the service, and a few chuckles, which Brent would have
loved, given his sense of humor.

"I'm Brent's lawyer," she said. "I've
represented him for the last five years in various capacities.
Within that time, we became friends and I grew to respect him a
great deal. His loss is still a bitter pill to swallow but, like
those of you who who loved him, I'll have to carry on just as he
would have wanted. Thanks, Brent, for being you. I'm sure we'll
meet again on the other side."

Brianna walked over to me and whispered,
"We'll both miss him a lot."

"Yes, we will," I agreed.

"I'll see you at my office," she said, gently
squeezing my arm.

The thought of going to a reading of the will
of someone who should still be alive was rather depressing, to say
the least. But I knew it was Brent's wish and I intended to abide
by it.

Now it was time for me to say a few words. I
sucked in a deep breath, still finding it hard to believe that
Brent was no longer with us—or maybe he was, in spirit.

"Brent and I had a good relationship," I
began nervously. "We dated for a while, but decided we were better
off as friends. I also loved his writing, and he always wanted an
honest review of every book that I read. He didn't always like
everything I had to say, but he respected it and moved on. We had
dinner recently and enjoyed each other's company. I had no idea it
would be the last time we'd ever talk. But then, that's usually the
way it goes when someone dies." I paused, and wiped away a tear.
"Your superb literature will live on forever, Brent. Goodbye, my
dear friend."

I left it at that and practically walked
right into the arms of Detective Whitmore.

"Sorry," I mumbled, dodging him at the last
moment.

"Don't be," he said. "My fault."

I met his eyes. "I guess this is probably as
good a time as any to ask how the case is coming along," I
said.

He grimaced. "A little slow, but we're still
gathering evidence so..."

"Do you have a suspect yet?" I asked, hopeful
this thing would be solved soon.

"We're still narrowing it down, but making
progress."

I glanced around at some of the others who
were present—not all of whom were familiar to me. I suspected some
were Brent's fans, paying their final respects. Then there was
Emily, the ex-wives, and other locals who knew him.

Peering at the detective, I said, "You think
the killer is here, don't you?"

"I didn't say that."

"But you aren't denying it either," I
pressed.

He ran a hand across his mouth. "Let's just
say that we're doing our best to catch a killer. That includes
going anywhere the case takes us that might help achieve that
goal."

I nodded, recognizing that he wasn't about to
confide in me regarding who the suspect might be, even though I was
the one who found the body. "I understand."

He flashed a weak grin. "Yeah, I thought you
would."

"I guess I'll let you get back to it then," I
told him.

"And I'll try to stay out of your way," he
said, in reference to us almost colliding.

I moved a bit further away from the gathering
to take a moment to reflect on Brent's passing and the legacy he
had left behind.

I heard someone approaching and turned to see
Josh, the sole male member of our book club.

"I thought you could use some company," he
said.

"Thanks," I said, gazing up at him. His short
dark blonde hair was parted to the side, and he was wearing a black
suit. "I just needed a moment."

Josh nodded. "I know you were friends with
Brent London. That was nice what you said about him."

"I meant every word," I stressed, as if he
would think otherwise.

"I'm sure you did. I was really looking
forward to picking his brain at the next book club meeting."

"We all were." I couldn't help but wonder
just how much of his brain was left to pick. Brent seemed quite
lucid during our last chat. But we hadn't really spoken about
anything too challenging that might have stalled him in his
thoughts. I tried not to think about that and instead turned to see
Pierce saying a few words about Brent.

I couldn't make out everything, but did hear
him say how much he had learned from Brent about the process of
writing and continuing to improve one's craft. I was sure that
Brent would have been very pleased to know that his mentoring had
paid off with Pierce, and probably others along the way as
well.

I decided I might as well inform Josh that
Pierce had agreed to take Brent's place as our guest of honor at
the next book club meeting.

"That's great." Josh seemed suitably
enthusiastic, in spite of believing that Pierce was not quite in
Brent's league as a writer. That was debatable, but probably
accurate, since Brent had more experience that came with age,
wisdom, and published works.

"I thought it was nice of him," I said.

"I'll try not to be too rough on him about
some of the problems I had with his last book."

"I didn't think there were that many issues,"
I said.

"There weren't, but there was still plenty of
room for improvement."

"Isn't there always?"

"For some more than others," Josh said. "But
don't worry; I just want to keep things interesting."

"I'm not worried at all," I stressed. "I'm
sure Pierce can take care of himself and doesn't need me running
interference for him."

Josh smiled. "Agreed." After a short pause,
he said, "Look, do you think we could get together for a drink
sometime? If I'm way out of line...or this isn't the time or
place—"

My eyes widened in surprise. Though we had
certainly been cordial since he started attending the book club
meetings, he had not given me any indication that he was interested
in me socially. Or was it more about book talk and not really a
date?

Either way, he was a nice looking man who
seemed interesting enough.

"No, you're not out of line," I told him.
"I'd like to get together for a drink sometime."

He flashed a boyish grin. "Terrific."

"Call me," I said, knowing that all the book
club members had each other's numbers.

"I will," he said, walking away.

By now, the gravesite service was over and
everyone was leaving. Emily headed toward me and I met her
halfway.

"Are you doing okay?" I asked, feeling for
her in having to go through this too many times already during her
young life.

"Yeah. It was a nice funeral and a proper
send off for Uncle Brent."

I smiled. "Yes it was."

"Let's go to this reading of his will and get
it over with," she said.

We were on the same page in wanting to honor
Brent's wishes and move on with our lives, as he would have wanted,
even while his killer remained on the loose.

CHAPTER
TEN

The Ormond, York, and McBride Law Firm was
located in downtown Cozy Pines, occupying the entire third floor of
the Bainbridge Building. Brianna greeted us inside the lobby.

"Thanks for coming," she said. "I know this
has been a difficult time for both of you."

"Not as hard as it's been for my uncle,"
Emily said tonelessly. "He should be here too..."

Brianna nodded and said, "In fact, in some
ways Brent will be here with us as we carry out his last
wishes."

"That's true," I told her, remembering that
Brent would be speaking to us on video, making it seem like he was
still alive.

Brianna extended her arm toward a hallway.
"Why don't we head into the conference room? Everyone else is
already there waiting."

Admittedly, I was curious as to who that
entailed, though I was pretty sure I knew at least some of those
Brent would have chosen among his beneficiaries.

We stepped inside a large room with a long
conference table. Seated around it were Brent's ex-wives—Deidre,
Ashley, and Margo—along with Pierce, the housekeeper Luisa and,
surprisingly, Brent's girlfriend, Ivana Croxley. Noticeably absent
was Brent's former girlfriend, Karla Terrell.

"I'm sure that you all know Emily, Brent's
niece," Brianna said. "And Riley Reed, a longtime friend of
Brent's."

"Oh yes, we all know Emily and most of us
know Riley," Pierce said.

"I definitely know Ms. Reed," Ashley said
tartly. "She was the one who got away. Or at least Brent seemed to
think so."

I cocked a brow and said to her, "I think
Brent and I parted mutually. If he told you otherwise—"

"He didn't have to," she claimed. "It was
always Riley this and Riley that. At times, I honestly found it
quite nauseating."

"Sorry you felt that way," I said. "But you
were the one he chose to marry and vice versa. That should count
for something."

"Maybe it will." She rolled her eyes and
leaned back in the chair.

"Leave Riley alone," Margo said. "I think we
all know that Brent was far from perfect, and the same holds true
for each of us. Let's not blame others for our own faults."

She flashed Ashley a hard look and she
offered no response.

"Indeed, let's show some respect for the
dead," Pierce said. "Which, I assume is the reason we're all
here."

Emily frowned. "My uncle invited everyone for
a reason. Don't take that from him."

"Well, perhaps now we can move on to the
order of business," Deidre muttered, glancing at her watch. "My
husband's waiting patiently for me outside, bless his heart."

"Agreed," Brianna said. She glanced at me,
and then Emily, before saying, "Why don't you both take a seat and
we'll get started."

Emily slid into a chair next to Margo and I
sat beside Pierce.

"Are you ready for whatever Brent has in
store for us?" he whispered.

"I have no choice in the matter," I told him.
"After all, isn't that why we're here?"

"Good point. Let the show begin."

We watched as Brianna pointed a remote at a
big screen television on the wall. Momentarily, Brent's handsome
face filled the screen.

"Greetings, everyone," he said, with a smile
on his face. "Sorry I can't be there with you in person, but
obviously that's not possible at this stage of my journey from
there to wherever I've ended up. I'm sure my wonderful attorney,
Brianna, has informed you that I've requested this reading of my
will as a prelude to the more formal and standard probate process,
in which you will all receive a copy at the appropriate time.