To Love and to Perish (12 page)

Seventeen

Sure enough, as Ray
promised, my cell phone rang minutes after Cory and I returned to the shop. A terse and unfamiliar voice issued an invitation to come on down to the county sheriff's department and answer a few questions. I could bring one guest, Cory.

We didn't talk on the drive over to the county's public safety
building. The building was about thirty minutes outside of
Wachobe, in a much less touristy town. It housed the sheriff's office, county court, and a forty-cell jail. Flanked by a hospital and a convenience store, the imposing brick and cement facility seemed
impervious to the hustle of traffic outside. I'd been there before several times, but every time I entered the place, I got the creeps. Jail was on my list of places I never wanted to go. Yet here I was.

The officer at the reception desk pointed us to the waiting room chairs. Cory picked the closest and sat with his knee bobbing up and down. He hadn't asked me again if he should admit to finding Brennan's financial records, and I hadn't brought it up either. As far as I was concerned, it was his story to tell. I would join in only if he asked me.

But they separated us. Cory got called in first, leaving me alone in the waiting room. We hadn't expected that, although we should have. I knew for sure Ray wouldn't be the one asking me questions now. I just didn't know who would be.

Twenty minutes later, I remained alone in the waiting room. When the door to the sheriff's department's inner sanctum opened, my head snapped up from the magazine pages I'd been idly turning. I expected to see an officer coming for me, but instead Catherine Thomas appeared.

She wore a striking red skirt and jacket, her hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. The leather of her black stilettos matched her briefcase perfectly and made her seem like a giant, since she stood quite tall barefoot. Three gold bangles adorned her wrist. They seemed to jingle “I'm so pretty.” Once again, she reminded me that she had it all goin' on.

“Jolene. I'd say it was nice to see you, but I'm representing Brennan. I understand you and Cory are here to provide information about his latest arrest.”

“Unfortunately.”

She shot a glance at the deputy behind the desk, who was fielding a phone call, and settled into the chair beside me, leaning in conspiratorially. “Any chance you want to fill me in?”

“I would, but it might get back to Ray.” Now that Brennan had been arrested in his county, I knew I'd better not talk to anyone until I talked to him or his fellow officers.

She heaved a huge sigh. “Ray won't tell me anything either. He's not assigned to the case because you're involved, and that only makes him that much more uncooperative. He hates it when he's not assigned to the big cases.”

Our sheriff's department was small, though our county was relatively large. The sheriff had long ago decided that, in order to keep his tenured deputies motivated, they would rotate assignments between patrol and investigation. This method worked wonders for morale and employee retention, except really interesting cases didn't come along all that often, a murder almost never. Catherine was right. Ray was irritated to be left out of this one because of me and Cory. I hated that Catherine knew I'd affected my husband's career negatively.

But a brief burst of happiness flowed through me, knowing my husband wasn't talking to his ex-lover.

Guilt followed. Call me naïve, but I still believed in Brennan Rowe—and Catherine's ability to save him from the big, bad sheriff, not to mention the district attorney.

Catherine drummed her red manicured nails on the wooden chair arm. “I can't believe anyone really thinks Brennan is a murderer. It's obvious to me this whole thing is a setup. I couldn't get Ray to admit it, but I'm sure he thinks so, too.”

I remained silent.

She popped up from her chair, still clutching her briefcase. “I'm going out to the car to make a few phone calls. They're through questioning Brennan until they get Cory's story and yours. Then they'll start in on Brennan again. I'm going to line up an investigator for whatever comes to light here today.”

She leaned down toward me. “Listen, Jolene, just tell them the good, the bad, and the ugly. I can't help Brennan if I don't know the whole story. Neither can Ray or anyone else. Will you do that for me?”

She didn't wait for my answer. Maybe she already knew what it was. I wished I did.

The bad and the ugly could cost Cory his relationship with Brennan. It could cost Cory and me our friendship. My business might need to hire a new mechanic. On the other hand, a killer was definitely on the loose in our hometown. Again. Last time he might have been caught sooner if I'd been more open with Ray during the investigation.

When the door opened forty minutes later and they called me in, I felt like I was walking the plank. The sheriff himself, who bears a great resemblance to a most familiar and right jolly old elf, interviewed me along with Max, Ray's peer. They simply asked for my story.

And I told them the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

So help all of us.

_____

Ray was nowhere in sight when I left the department. I wondered if he'd been dispatched to interview any one of the people I'd named or perhaps to get a search warrant signed for Brennan's home. The sheriff's eyes had sparkled at the mention of the yearbook and the check registers. Brennan and Catherine were in for a long night. I wouldn't expect Ray home on time.

Cory was in the waiting room. We walked out to his car in
silence. Only after we were safely inside its cocoon did we speak—simultaneously. “I told them about the check registers.”

We both laughed with relief.

Cory leaned back against the headrest. “I was afraid you wouldn't tell and you'd get in trouble.”

“I was afraid if I told and you didn't, you'd hate me.”

“No way, Jo. We go back too far.” He sighed. “I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my chest. I don't think Brennan is guilty, and the only way they're ever going to find Wayne Engle's killer now is to know all the facts. If Brennan hates me forever, then so be it. And if by some bizarre twist of fate, he is a killer then I'm just lucky to find out now before I invest any more in our relationship. The truth will set you free.”

I smiled at the all-too-familiar gift shop quote. We all spent too much time in our tourist town, which had its share of clichés for sale. “I have to admit I feel better, too. Let the professionals handle it. I'm happy to sit this one out.”

“I doubt they're finished with us yet.”

“I saw Catherine Thomas before I met with the sheriff. She wanted me to tell her the whole story. I wasn't comfortable telling her then, but now, hey, the sheriff didn't tell me to keep quiet. He did ask me to stay away from everyone we spoke to. What about you?”

“The same. If Catherine asks again, I don't see why we can't talk to her. It's in the interest of learning the truth, right?”

“Right.” Still, I wondered what Ray would say about that. I'd ask him later.

Cory and I drove back to the shop, stopping to pick up submarines for a late lunch. The answering machine light wasn't blinking when we entered the shop. We set up lunch on my desk.

I bit into my tuna submarine.

Cory's roast beef remained wrapped.

“What's wrong?”

“They're probably talking to Brennan now, interrogating him.”

I chewed and swallowed. “I'm sure they are. But they'll figure this out. We were just the catalyst.”

“We must know the killer.”

“I'm sure we do, but for the life of me, I don't know which person it is.”

Cory shook his head. “We don't even know for sure if we're looking for one killer or two. And James Gleason's death could still have been an accident.”

“The sheriff wanted to get the original of that YouTube video I found on the Internet. He said maybe they could enhance it to see the crowd behind James and Brennan better. Before he let me leave, I had to bring the video up on screen for Max.”

Cory unwrapped his sub and took a bite, mayonnaise dribbling on his chin. “Who do you think killed Wayne Engle?”

“I have no idea.” I reviewed the people we'd met in my head. “I doubt it was Elizabeth Potter's parents. They're too old, and the mother seemed to like Brennan. I don't think she'd want to frame him.”

“Mr. Potter might want to. He seemed miserable—and so did his dog.”

I laughed, trying not to spew tuna.

Cory picked up a tomato slice that had fallen out of his sub and popped it in his mouth, swallowing it in one gulp. “But they were pretty old. What about Matthew Gleason? He was young and strong. We know he was at the race.”

“Why would he kill his godfather? He seemed to like him.”

“I don't know. I'm sorry we didn't get to meet his mother.”

“Me, too. She's my number one suspect. James Gleason was a hothead. They fought all the time. He could have been giving her a hard time about the divorce. Maybe she was having an affair with Wayne, who saw her at the Glen and realized she was the killer after we talked to him.”

“Or maybe Matthew killed his father to protect his mother. We've read about cases like that in the paper before.” Cory hesitated. “Do you think the guys at the sheriff's department are coming up with theories like this?”

“I have no doubt. They probably have even more fertile imaginations than we do.” I chewed my sub. “Matthew admitted he wouldn't miss his dad. Maybe he didn't want Wayne as a replacement dad.”

Cory pointed his index finger at me. “Another good theory. Keep going.”

“Elizabeth Potter might want revenge on Brennan for the car crash years ago, but I don't know why she'd want to kill Wayne Engle, unless he knew she was blackmailing Brennan and threatened to expose her.”

“Why expose her now? The blackmail payments stopped more than a year ago.” Cory swigged his soda.

“If they even were blackmail payments.” I crumpled the sub wrapper and made a basket. “We're going to drive ourselves crazy trying to piece this all together. Let's leave it to the professionals for now.”

“I'll bet you one thing for sure.”

“What?”

“It wasn't Evie.”

I burst into laughter as my cell phone rang. I fumbled for it in my purse and answered, still grinning.

“Jolene, it's Isabelle. Are you busy right now?”

“Not really.”

“Can you come give me a lift? Please?”

An odd request, considering Isabelle lived an hour away. I thought I detected a note of desperation in her voice, too. “What's going on?”

“Can you just come? I'll tell you when you get here.”

I checked the digital readout on my office wall clock. A little less than two more hours to closing time. Danny was at football practice right now, and he had a birthday sleepover party immediately following. I'd dropped the gift and his things off at his friend's house this morning, promising to pick him up at nine a.m. tomorrow. Ray could be at work for hours.

Cory was slumped in his chair again, his brow furrowed, eyes clouded. He could use a trip to the gym to release some stress.

“We just decided to close up early today. I'll leave now. Where are you?”

“Sitting outside the jail.”

Eighteen

Two visits to jail
in one day—an all-time high for me. I pressed the gas pedal of my Lexus to the floor and made it to Isabelle's town within forty-five minutes, worried and fearful after her call.

I found Isabelle sitting in the lobby of the police department on a scarred wooden bench. She did not look herself. On most work days, she wore form-fitting suits with fashionable shoes and elegant jewelry from her husband's jewelry store, attracting attention everywhere she went with the fine gems and her brilliant smile, two excellent assets. Isabelle's flat face and mousy brown hair tended toward homely, but those assets gave her the illusion of radiance.

Today, however, her flowered skirt had a tear in it, revealing the red slip she wore beneath. Her lightweight white sweater had a three-inch pull culminated by a hangman's loop, and her hair held leaves. Scratches on her skin were visible at her wrists. Pink pumps in her hand matched the flowers on her skirt. In her other hand, she clutched her open purse. Gold jewelry gleamed inside it.

Isabelle threw her arms around me and choked back tears. She and I had roomed together for six years at college while we pursued our undergraduate and master's degrees in business. She'd been brave enough never to question me about my mother's death and to stay at my house with Erica and my dad, who defined eccentric. She was also the only one in my life who never called me by a nickname. I liked to think that meant she took me seriously.

I hugged her tight, then pulled back to assess the damage again. The most dreadful thought popped into my mind. “Isabelle, have you been”—I lowered my voice to a whisper—“raped?”

She burst into laughter. “Oh, thank God you came. No, I have not.”

“Then what happened?”

A uniformed officer passed by us, glanced at Isabelle, and shook his head with a smile.

She looped her arm through mine. “Let's go outside to your car, shall we?”

Once we settled comfortably in my bucket seats, she fussed with
the rip in her skirt, trying to smooth the two raw edges together. “I did something really stupid. Promise not to tell even Ray.”

I thought of how much trouble that same promise to Cory had created. Then I went ahead and made it anyway.

Isabelle sucked in a deep breath. “This afternoon I decided to take time off to do some yard work with Jack. Put away the patio furniture for the winter, stuff like that. He'd been home all morning, and I had just gotten home and was going upstairs to get changed when the phone rang. I heard him tell someone that he'd come by, just like last time. Then he came upstairs to tell me he needed to get fertilizer for the grass. He took off. I got in the car and followed him.

“He went to another bed and breakfast, not too far from our house. I waited for him to come out. A half hour went by. I decided to park a ways down and peek in the windows to see if I could spot him. I went around the house, looking in all the windows. One room was a bedroom and two people were in the bed … ah … doing it. I couldn't see their faces, but, of course, I thought it was Jack and another woman. I pressed my nose right up against the window.” She closed her eyes.

I tried to wait patiently. I couldn't. “And?”

Her eyes flew open. “And it wasn't him. It was some other couple. She saw me first and screamed. Then the guy saw me and leapt out of bed. And I saw … well … all of him. I tried to run, but I got caught in the shrubs. It slowed me down. By the time I got around to the driveway, a man had come out on the porch. Not the naked one. I think it was the owner. He came running after me. I got in my car and peeled out, but he must have gotten my license number because the police pulled me over a few blocks down the road. They arrested me for peeping. They fingerprinted me and everything. It was awful and embarrassing.”

A tear rolled down Isabelle's cheek and dripped off her chin. She didn't seem to notice.

I wanted to hug her again, but I was afraid she wouldn't make it through the rest of her story.

She breathed deep again. “I explained what happened. I apologized up and down. I offered to pay for any damages to their shrubbery. The officer couldn't keep a straight face. He left me sitting in the interrogation room for a while, then he came back and said no one wanted to press any charges. The officer said I could go home.

“My car was towed to impound. I asked for a ride over there. He refused. He said I should call my husband. He said we needed to talk and now would be the perfect time.”

She wrung her hands. “Oh, Jolene, I couldn't call Jack. I've been arrested. I have an arrest record. What if my clients find out? What if they hear why I was arrested?”

I took her hands in mine, stilling them. “I don't think anyone will find out, since you weren't charged or arraigned. We can go get your car. It'll be okay.”

Isabelle's tears flowed freely. “I'm acting like a crazy person.”

I fumbled in my purse for tissues and handed them to her. “Love will do that to you.”

She blew her nose and dried her eyes. “I thought everything was going to be okay. Jack and I did it the other night. Twice. I thought maybe he had just been under stress or maybe he was just getting older.”

“Was he still at the bed and breakfast when you left?”

“I don't know. It all happened so fast. I don't know if his car was still there or not. But I already talked to him. He called and left a message while I was at the jail, wanting to know where I went. I called him back and told him I had an emergency at work. He seemed to buy my story. He offered to pick up Cassidy and make dinner.” She buried her face in her hands. “God, I am such an idiot.”

“You are not an idiot.”

“And that officer. The way he talked to me. He was so patronizing. I felt like a two-year-old.”

“He's just glad you're not a real peeper. It would blow their profiling to have women in flowered skirts and pink pumps take up peeping.”

Isabelle's smile was weak, but a smile nonetheless. “Don't ever tell anyone, okay?”

“I swear.”

“What am I going to tell Jack when he sees me like this?”

I thought for a second. “Let's get your car, then we'll stop by the mall. I'll go in and buy you a new outfit while you pick the leaves out of your hair. Jack won't notice a new outfit, will he?”

“God, no.” She glanced at her scratched wrists. “Just make sure it's long-sleeved.”

_____

I arrived home around seven thirty. Ray's patrol car was parked in the driveway. He was in the living room, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, watching the sports channel on the flat screen over the fireplace while eating leftover stir fry.

He didn't acknowledge my arrival, a sure sign he was angry. I eased onto the couch beside him, picking up the pillow Erica made to hold to my chest. I fingered the words on it, thinking Isabelle was like another sister to me.

I contemplated the best way to approach Ray and settled on a neutral course. “Are you in for the night?”

His gaze never left the television. “I'm on patrol tomorrow. Max and Gumby are going to Albany. They have appointments with the Potters, the Gleasons, and even Brennan's father, who is apparently half dead in a hospice.”

“Really? What's wrong with him?”

“Pancreatic cancer.”

“Does Brennan know that?”

“I don't know what Brennan knows, and Catherine won't let him tell me.” Ray scraped the bottom of his bowl with a piece of cornbread, soaking up the remaining stir fry sauce.

He was mad, all right. I tried to make amends. “I saw Catherine today. She wanted me to tell her everything I planned to tell the sheriff.”

“Did you?”

“No, I wanted to tell him first. Is it okay if Cory and I talk to her?”

“Now you're checking with me?” Ray gathered his dishes. “Now that I'm not the one to ask?”

“Because you're not assigned to the case?”

“Yes.”

“And you're disappointed?” I wanted to say “angry,” but why fuel the fire?

Ray rose off the couch and disappeared into the kitchen. “I'm the errand boy. I got the warrant to search Brennan's house. We collected the yearbook and check registers.”

I followed Ray. “Does Brennan know you took all that?”

“Yes. The sheriff and Max asked him about the payments.”

“What did he say?”

“I don't know. I'm not assigned to the case.”

I didn't know what to say. It was highly unusual that the department wasn't talking among themselves, sharing information and theories. Ray must be devastated to be left out—and it was all my doing.

I focused on the facts he did know. “So Max and Gumby are going to talk to everyone tomorrow? Cory and I never got to meet Suzanne Gleason.”

“She's on the appointment list. They'll probe into the divorce and try to map out exactly where she was when her husband ended up in the street. Ask about insurance money, that kind of thing.”

“And her son?”

“Again, probe into their relationship. Ask if he benefits from insurance policies.”

“That's a lot for one day.”

Ray rinsed his empty beer bottle and set it in the bin under the sink. “It's a start. The guy who shot the YouTube video is in Europe for the next month working. His wife can't find the original. She's waiting for him to call her.”

“Will Brennan have to sit in jail all that time?”

“I don't know if a judge will let him out on bail now that two deaths are linked to him. I'm guessing his fingerprints will be all over the oar used to knock Engle into the water. It's his dock. The message makes it look like he called the office and lured Engle to his house. Catherine is good, though. She might work it.”

Ray leaned his back against the kitchen countertop. “Not to change the subject, but Danny called to remind me that it was our turn to bring the team snacks. I doubt if I'm going to be able to make the game tomorrow, but I can run over to the grocery store and pick up some sports drinks and granola bars now. Do we need anything else?”

“Nothing I can think of. Do you think Brennan—”

Ray held up his hand. “Enough. I'm not going to talk about this with you anymore. You know if you and Cory weren't involved, I'd be on this case.”

“I know, Ray. I'm sorry. I really am.” If Cory and I hadn't gotten
involved, Wayne Engle might still be with us, too. That would be tougher for me to forgive and forget.

My dismay must have shown on my face, because Ray's expression softened. He moved closer to run his thumb over my lower lip then brought his lips close to my ear. “Hey, we're definitely home alone tonight. While I'm out, maybe you'll think of ways to make it up to me.”

His hot breath sent chills through me. My mouth felt dry. “I'll wear your Christmas present from last year.”

He pulled away and smiled wickedly. “I forgive you already.”

I admired the view his tight jeans provided as he headed for the front door. God, I loved following the man through the grocery store, taking in that view. How fortunate that he still loved and wanted me, too—even if I did cost him a big case. Ray was never one to hold a grudge.

He paused before leaving the house. “Check the mail. I think you'll find it interesting.”

I went over to the wicker basket we kept by the back door and flipped through all the unsolicited catalogs, bank card offers, postcards for oil changes and new mufflers, the request for a water meter read, and a few unwanted bills. A single blue envelope was left.

I flipped open the already torn flap and pulled out the card from inside. Confetti spilled from it to my floor.

Balloons decorated its face. The card cover read, “A Really, Really Big Surprise!”

Inside in blue script, the card said, “You're invited to a surprise party of monumental proportions. Isabelle and Jack are cele-
brating their ten-year wedding anniversary. Please join us for the celebration to end all celebrations.” A popular party house near their home was the site for the celebration, on a Friday night two weeks away.

A list of local bed and breakfasts was included for out of town guests with a handwritten note from Jack, indicating he had blocked rooms at all of them. I felt certain the one he visited today was included.

Another handwritten note fell to the floor. I picked it up. It said,
“Jolene, please, please keep this party a secret from Isabelle. She does so much for me, and I really want to surprise her. I didn't give you that much notice about the party so you won't have to keep the secret as long. I can't wait to see Isabelle's face! Thanks, Jack.”

I couldn't wait to see it either.