Stuck on Murder (12 page)

Tenley marched into Vintage Papers the next morning with a coffee from Stan’s Diner in each of her hands and the
Morse Point Courier
rolled up under her arm.

“Just wait until you see this,” she said. “It’s outrageous.”

Brenna put down the Fiskar scissors she was using to cut out a print of an antique hot air balloon. She was planning to decoupage it onto an old metal letter box, but it could wait if Tenley had news.

Tenley put down the coffees, unrolled the paper with a flourish, and plopped it in front of Brenna. The headline was a scandal by itself but the photo below it made it damning.

MURDER SUSPECT NATE WILLIAMS HAS HISTORY OF VIOLENCE! The bold typeface screamed across the top of the paper. Below it there was a picture of Nate, looking decidedly angry and several years younger.

He appeared to be walking out of a New York City police precinct with a stunning blond beside him. Unable to stop herself, Brenna scanned the article. After a few paragraphs, she felt dirty and it wasn’t just the black newsprint residue on her fingers. And yet, she read every word.

Several sources, from self-proclaimed friends of Nate’s to maids working at hotels where he’d once stayed, reported to have seen his notorious artistic temper. The photo of him leaving the precinct was purported to have been taken after he and the blond were arrested for trashing their hotel room after a wild party. Lovely.

The reporter for the
Courier
, Ed Johnson himself, speculated that Nate Williams suffered from anger issues. The article went on to speculate that perhaps when Mayor Ripley had crossed him, Nate Williams had finally given in to his violent ways. Ed Johnson ended the piece by declaring that he, too, had suffered at Nate’s hands while trying to interview sources for this story. Brenna shoved the paper away, disgusted.

It was her fault. If Nate hadn’t tossed Ed off her front steps, Ed wouldn’t be coming after him like this. Her stomach twisted at the thought.

The bells jangled on the door and in walked Cynthia Ripley. She looked more put together today than she had in front of Nate’s cabin, but just barely. She wore jeans and a pink hooded sweatshirt. Her hair, which was usually shellacked to perfection, was pulled back by a wide black headband, as if she couldn’t be bothered to style it.

Although she did seem calmer, Brenna flipped the newspaper over just in case the sight of Nate’s photo set her off.

She was carrying a large box, and Tenley hurried over to take it from her.

“Cynthia, how are you?” she asked as she placed the box on the worktable.

“Managing,” Cynthia said. Her voice was subdued and Brenna found herself feeling sorry for her. Like her or not, Brenna couldn’t imagine how horrifying it must have been to have her husband’s dead body found in a trunk in the lake. Poor Cynthia.

“I’m planning the memorial for Jim,” she said. Her voice wobbled a bit with emotion, but she pressed on, “And I was wondering if you, Brenna, would be willing to create a memory collage for me to put out at the service.”

“Uh . . . sure,” Brenna said. Caught off guard, she didn’t see how she could refuse.

“Thank you,” Cynthia said. Her chin quivered and she opened the box she’d brought with her. “I thought you could decoupage these photos and news clippings onto a plaque to put on display at the service. What do you think?”

Brenna was speechless, but Tenley put her arm around Cynthia and said, “I think it’s a lovely idea.”

A single tear rolled down Cynthia’s cheek, and Brenna felt her own throat get tight. She realized she didn’t know what sort of relationship the Ripleys had, but there was no mistaking Cynthia’s suffering.

“It’s all in here,” Cynthia said. She reached into the box and pulled out a manila folder full of clippings. “You don’t have to use them all. I’ll defer to your artistic vision, but the highlights like our wedding photo and the day he was sworn in as mayor would be critical.”

Brenna nodded. She glanced into the box to see if there was more, but the only thing left was the birdhouse Cynthia had decorated two weeks ago.

“Oh, and I was wondering if you could fix my birdhouse?” Cynthia asked. Her voice cracked and now the tears were running down her face in a stream. “I was holding it when Chief Barker told me about J—Jim and I dropped it.”

Brenna pulled the house out of the box and noticed the corner did appear to be mashed. It was easily fixable.

“There is an oak tree beside Jim’s plot, and I thought I could hang the birdhouse in it to keep him company,” Cynthia said. Her voice was barely audible through her sobs, and she turned and wept into Tenley’s shoulder.

“Absolutely,” Brenna said. She wished she could do more to help. “A little wood putty and paint and it’ll be as good as new.”

“There, you see?” Tenley said as she patted Cynthia back. “Brenna will take care of everything.”

Cynthia straightened up and took the tissue Tenley offered. She sniffed a couple of times and then drew in a shaky breath.

“Thank you both so much,” she said. “I’d better go. I have to meet with the florist. I’m having them re-create my wedding bouquet for the wreath for Jim’s coffin.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Brenna asked.

“Could I get you some coffee or tea?” Tenley added.

“No, no, I’m fine,” Cynthia said. She walked toward the door, dabbing at her eyes as she went. “Now that his murderer is in custody, I can move on with the grieving process.”

“What do you mean?” Brenna asked. She felt all of the hair on her arms rise up in alarm.

Cynthia opened the door and the bells jangled again. Standing in the doorway, she turned to face them. The tears on her cheeks seemed to evaporate as she lifted her chin in vindication. “Didn’t you hear? Chief Barker arrested Nate Williams this morning for murdering my husband.”

The door shut behind her, and Brenna and Tenley exchanged wide-eyed looks of shock.

“It’s not true,” Brenna said. “Nate didn’t kill Jim Ripley. I know he didn’t.”

Tenley gave her a worried look then her eyes widened again and her mouth formed a small
oh
.

“You like him,” she said.

Brenna pretended to misunderstand and said, “Of course I like him, he’s a very nice man.”

“Oh, no, don’t even try it.” Tenley shook her head. “You get a goopy look on your face whenever someone says his name. You
like
Nate Williams.”

“Well, you should know that goopy look,” Brenna retorted. “You get the same one every time Matt Collins walks into a room.”

“Ah,” Tenley gasped and clapped her hands to her cheeks.

“Ha! Busted!” Brenna said. “I knew there was something going on between you two.”

“No, no there isn’t.” Tenley turned away from her. Her back was stiff as if to ward off a blow, and Brenna feared she’d gone too far and offended her friend.

“Look, Tenley, I’m sorry,” she said. “I overstepped. If I admit that yes, maybe, I like Nate Williams just a teeny bit, will you forgive me?”

Tenley spun around with a grin and said, “I knew it!”

“Hey, you tricked me,” she protested. “I thought you were mad at me.”

“I could never be mad at you,” Tenley said with an eye roll that bespoke exasperation. “Honestly, don’t you know me by now?”

“Apparently not,” Brenna said. “Since I am quite sure there is something happening between you and Matt and you’ve never mentioned it to me.”

“No, there’s nothing,” Tenley said with a dismissive wave.

“Oh, come on. I just admitted that I like a man in jail,” Brenna prompted. “You can’t pull the fifth on me now.”

Tenley looked uncomfortable. “Oh, all right. You know we dated in high school.”

“Yes,” Brenna encouraged her.

“But we had a really bad breakup,” Tenley said.

“What happened?”

“I dumped him, because my family didn’t think he was good enough for me, and when it got serious, they refused to let me see him anymore and like a fool I went along with it,” she said. Her voice snapped like a whip, as if she were trying to lash herself with the words that obviously still caused her much pain.

“I’m sorry,” Brenna said.

“It gets worse,” Tenley said. “I took up with Steve Portsmyth, Phyllis’s nephew. He was a big football hero, handsome but dumb as a brick and mean as a snake. He took every opportunity he could to stick it to Matt. It was awful, and I did nothing to stop it. I don’t think I can ever forgive myself and I can’t expect Matt to either.”

Brenna frowned. It seemed to her Tenley’s parents should be the ones asking for forgiveness, but she knew that was as likely as the Porter twins giving up gossip.

Tenley’s relationship with her family was strained. Although they lived in the same town, Tenley rarely saw her parents. They had expected her to be married to a doctor or lawyer by now, like her sisters, and starting up her own business had put a severe crimp in their plans for her. Of her three sisters, all living in surrounding towns, only one had bothered to come and see her new store. Brenna knew it hurt Tenley deeply, although she seldom talked of it.

“So, like I said, there’s nothing between me and Matt,” Tenley said.

Yeah, right, she thought. Brenna had noticed that Tenley always wore a cute outfit on Fridays, when they went for their wine and salads at the Fife and Drum, and she was always sure to touch up her makeup beforehand, too. She may say she’d given up hope on Matt, but her actions demonstrated otherwise.

Brenna remembered the day Matt had stopped by the shop to tell her about Nate’s campaign. There had been enough sparks between them to start a fire. Tenley was wrong. Whatever was between them, it was anything but nothing.

“Enough about me,” Tenley said. “What are we going to do about Nate? Do you really think they’ve arrested him? Should we call over to the jail and see if he needs bail?”

“I’m sure he has a lawyer,” Brenna said. “And I don’t know if he’d want us interfering. I just wish I knew what was going on. Who can we call to find out what’s happening at the jail?”

“Matt has a cousin who works as a desk clerk over there,” Tenley said.

“Well, isn’t that convenient?” Brenna asked. “Call him.”

Tenley looked unsure.

“Call him,” she said again. “This is a matter of life and death.”

Okay, perhaps that was a bit over the top, but it got Tenley over her nerves and over to the cordless phone on the counter. With any luck, Matt would be able to tell them what was happening at the jail and then she could decide whether or not to panic about Nate.

 

 

Matt stopped by the shop as soon as he had spoken to his cousin. Now that Brenna knew about the rocky history between them, it was hard not to notice the way Matt’s eyes softened when he looked at Tenley. Oh, yeah, there was unfinished business there all right.

Matt’s news was good. According to his cousin Janet, Nate had not been arrested but he had been brought in for questioning.

“They let him go just a few minutes ago, after the formal questioning,” Matt said. His blond hair fell over his forehead in a becoming way, and Brenna noticed Tenley watching him from beneath her lashes.

“Did he go home?” Brenna asked. She wondered if she should go and offer him some support. He had to be unhappy that he was Chief Barker’s prime suspect. It was just so wrong.

“Brenna, I just have to ask.” Tenley paused and looked down at the worktable where they were sitting, as if trying to figure how to say what she wanted to say, but Brenna was ahead of her. “You want to know if I have considered the possibility that Nate is the murderer, right?”

“Um . . . well . . . yeah,” she admitted.

“I have no proof except for my gut feeling that Nate is innocent,” Brenna said. “But I can’t see him as a murderer—not now, not ever. It wasn’t him.”

“Well, I, for one, am glad to hear you say that.”

All three of them spun around to look at the back of the shop. Standing in the doorway to the store room was Nate.

A small smile played upon his lips as his gaze met Brenna’s. She tried to ignore the happy flutter she felt as he strolled into the room and took a seat at the large table with them, but it was impossible not to return his smile. She was just so relieved to have him here and not in jail.

Tenley, on the other hand, looked mortified. “I’m sorry, Nate, I just—”

“Had to ask,” he said. “I know. I’d have done the same if the situation were reversed.”

She looked relieved and then a little piqued. Matt saw her expression and laughed. She playfully punched him on the arm and he stifled his chuckle.

“I hope you don’t mind my using the back door,” Nate said. “I’m having a little difficulty getting out of town.”

He pointed to the front window and they turned to see a crowd of reporters gathered in front of the police station, which was a diminutive building that sat beside the town hall.

“Are they all here for you?” Brenna asked. There had to be fifteen reporters out there, from newspapers as well as TV stations.

“Yep, the paparazzi have landed,” he said. “Thankfully, Chief Barker let me slip out the back while my attorney went out the front into the feeding frenzy. I’ll probably have to give him a bonus for that. I haven’t felt this hunted since I left New York.”

“You’re welcome to crash with me if you need to,” Matt offered.

“I appreciate that, but I called Paul out at the cabins and he’s moving Hank and some of my belongings into the vacant cabin next to yours, Brenna. They had a pack of reporters out there, too, so they had to distract them in order to move some of my things.”

“How did they manage that?” Brenna asked.

“Apparently, Twyla borrowed my clothes and dressed up as me. Then she took Hank and my truck and headed west on Route 20. I guess they were three towns out before the reporters caught on.”