The Deep End (A Saints & Strangers Cozy Mystery Book 2) (15 page)

“It’s plausible except for one thing,” Francie said.

“What’s that?”

“Charlotte detests baths. She doesn’t like the idea of being submerged in her own filth. She only takes showers.”

The two young women stared at each other, realizing the alternative.

“Someone tried to kill her just like they killed Jasmine.” Kit said aloud what they were both thinking.

“Summon your boyfriend,” Francie urged. “Get him over here now.”

“He’s not my…” Kit stopped herself. It probably wasn’t the appropriate time to split hairs about her relationship status.

While Kit was busy filling in a sleepy Romeo, Francie continued down the corridor to see an unconscious Charlotte. Tubes coiled around her and Francie inhaled sharply at the sight of her best friend. She looked so sweet and helpless. A lump formed in her throat.

“How is she?” Francie choked. Rebecca and the doctor stood by the bed, looking over a chart.

“Francie,” Rebecca cried and engulfed the younger girl in her arms. “It’s going to be all right. Dr. Steinmeyer is taking good care of her.”

“Her vitals are as good as can be expected, but we’ll know more over the next twenty-four hours,” Dr. Steinmeyer said. “You should thank Ellie Gold for getting to her when she did. She saved her life.”

Rebecca blinked back tears. “I know. Kit’s a good friend to Charlotte.”

“Why is she still unconscious?” Francie asked.

“She has a nasty bump on the side of her head,” the doctor told her. “That’s the likely cause.”

“She’s dyspraxic,” Rebecca reminded him. “Bumps and bruises are nothing new to her.”

Francie clasped Rebecca’s hand. “Kit and I were just discussing it. We don’t think it was an accident.”

Rebecca studied her for a moment. “The house was messier than usual.” She smacked her forehead in disbelief. “Sweet angel above. What is wrong with me? Charlotte doesn’t even like baths. I’m the one who take baths.”

“That’s exactly what I told Kit.”

Dr. Steinmeyer looked alarmed. “You think this was attempted murder?”

“We need to call the police,” Rebecca said.

Francie was just about to tell her not to bother when Kit strode into the room, waving her phone. “No need. Romeo is on his way.”

“But why would anyone want to kill Charlotte?” Rebecca queried.

“Likely the same person who killed Jasmine,” Francie said, stepping across the room to smooth Charlotte’s hair away from her face. “I wasn’t so fussed before, but now I really want to catch this guy.”

“You’re welcome to stay with her overnight,” the doctor said, nodding to Rebecca. “There’s a cot in the room.”

“Thank you.” Rebecca stared at her sister. “I don’t know what I’d do without Lottie. She’s all I have.”

Romeo barely had time to open his mouth in greeting before Kit was in front of him, launching into the evening’s traumatic events. Her blue eyes brimmed with worry and her voice shook as she rehashed the discovery of Charlotte’s unconscious body.

Romeo wrapped his arms around her and she allowed herself to be comforted. She hadn’t realized how much she needed the warmth of his embrace until she was entangled in it. His lips brushed the top of her head and she closed her eyes, the exhaustion catching up with her.

“Have you found Brendan yet?” Francie asked, interrupting their quiet moment.

“I can’t believe Brendan would hurt her,” Kit interjected.

“Maybe she figured out his current hiding place and he tried to silence her,” Francie suggested.

Kit remained skeptical. “Don’t you think she would have told one of us if she knew where Brendan was?”

“I doubt she knew,” Romeo said. “He’s managed to stay one step ahead of us. He seems to have a lot of friends willing to help him.”

“He may have spent his trust fund,” Francie said, “but families here tend to stick together when under threat. Jasmine wasn’t one of us, but Brendan is.”

Romeo raked a hand through his thick, dark hair. “I thought it was just Italians who did that,” he quipped. He knew better, though. Social groups were likely to protect one of their own. He just wished he were sure what they were protecting Brendan
from
. It was becoming harder and harder to believe the guy was innocent when he refused to have a simple conversation with the police.

“Someone should watch over Charlotte,” Francie suggested. “Make sure the killer doesn’t try again.”

“I’ll send a team over to your house,” Romeo told Kit. “Comb the place for evidence.”

Kit rolled her eyes. Not again. “Try not to wake the neighbors.”

“The neighbors might be helpful in this case,” he said with a vague smile. “I need to find out if Brendan Williams or Jake Krieg were spotted on your street. If anyone’s going to notice the presence of a young man on Thornhill Road, it’s Thora and Phyllis.”

Rebecca sat on the chair next to the bed, leaning her head against its side. The hours of sitting had taken a toll and her back ached. She woke up from the sunlight streaming through the blinds. Stretching, she looked down at her sister just as her eyes fluttered open.

“Rebecca?”

“Charlotte, thank God.” She threw herself across her sister’s body.

“What happened?” Charlotte murmured. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the hospital,” Rebecca explained. “You nearly drowned in the tub.” Rebecca’s resolve broke and the tears began in earnest.

“The tub?” Charlotte blinked. “Why on earth was I in a tub?” She reached to touch the side of her head. “This feels like an egg.”

“We think someone knocked you unconscious and put you in the tub,” Rebecca explained. “They wanted us to think it was an accident. That you fell in while running the bath, hit your head and drowned.”

Charlotte gasped. “That’s awful. I don’t even like baths.”

“Little did your attacker know that. Did you see who it was?”

“I don’t remember,” Charlotte said.

“You texted me about finding something important of Father’s,” Rebecca reminded her. “Do you remember what it was?”

Charlotte shook her head and winced from the pain. “No. When did I text you?”

“When I was at the Pilgrim Society meeting. Then Kit and I came home and found you.”

Charlotte bit her lip in frustration. “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember what it was.”

“The police have been at Kit’s to look for evidence. They’re dusting for prints anywhere the attacker may have touched.”

Charlotte managed a weak smile. “The police are back in Kit’s house. She must be so happy right now.”

“I should tell the nurse that you’re awake,” Rebecca said. “I’ll be right back.”

On her way to the nurses’ station, she passed Kit in the waiting area, curled up under a jacket. Empty coffee cups were scattered on the table in front of her.

“Kit, wake up,” Rebecca urged. “She’s awake.”

Groggily, Kit rose to her feet. “Where’s Francie?”

“I sent her home a few hours ago, but I couldn’t budge you.”

“Does she remember anything?” Kit asked between yawns. “Romeo said to call when she wakes up.”

Rebecca shook her head. “Not yet, but memories may come later. There’s a chance she didn’t see or hear anything before she blacked out.”

“I’ll let Romeo know. He’ll want to talk to her as soon as possible.” She began to pull out her phone but Rebecca stopped her.

“Can it wait just a little bit? She only just woke up and she doesn’t remember anyway. She looks so fragile right now. I don’t want to tire her out.”

“You’re right.” Kit gave her a tiny smile. “Romeo can be exhausting.” She tucked the phone away and went to welcome her friend back to the land of the living.

Chapter Nine

Kit sat on the sofa, reading a copy of
The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat
by Oliver Sacks. Although she didn’t have a lot of time for leisure reading these days, Rebecca had insisted that she make an exception for this book.

An impatient knock on the door brought Kit quickly to her feet.

“Would you like me to get it?” Rebecca called from the kitchen. She’d been baking pumpkin bread in anticipation of Charlotte’s release from the hospital later that day.

“That’s okay,” Kit called back. Opening the front door, she was unable to mask her shock when she realized it was Brendan Williams on her doorstep. She barely recognized him.

“What on earth…” Kit began. She stared slack-jawed at Brendan. His skin was pale and he had dark circles under his eyes. His hair and clothes were unkempt, like he’d been sleeping in them for days.

“I’m sorry to barge in like this,” he said.

Kit eyed him warily, debating whether to text Romeo. “What are you doing here?” she finally asked.

“I heard about Charlotte,” he explained.

“How did you hear about her?” she demanded.

“That doesn’t matter,” he replied vaguely.

“It does if you’re the one who tried to kill her,” Kit said.

Brendan’s expression was so pained that Kit found herself regretting her words. “I would never hurt Charlotte.”

“I beg to differ,” Kit said, thinking of Charlotte’s broken heart.

“I’d like to speak with her sister,” Brendan said. “I assume she’s still staying here.”

“She is.” Deciding he wasn’t there to commit a double murder, Kit stepped aside to let him enter. “Follow me.”

Kit guided him into the kitchen. “You have a visitor, Rebecca.”

Rebecca nearly dropped the mixing bowl onto the floor. “Brendan,” she exclaimed. She seemed as surprised by Brendan’s disheveled appearance as Kit was. “What can you possibly be doing here?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Whatever you need to say, you can say in front of Kit.”

“I’ll be your witness,” Kit agreed.

Brendan sat at the kitchen table. He fiddled with the cutlery, then popped up and paced the floor wildly. Rebecca and Kit simply stared at him, unsure what to make of his odd behavior.

“I understand that your sister will be released today. That she’s much improved.”

“Physically, yes,” Rebecca said coldly.

Brendan rushed toward her and gripped her hand. “Do you think I’m an absolute bastard?”

Rebecca snatched her hand away. “What on earth can it matter what I think? Go home, Brendan, wherever that is. You smell like a bar. I’m surprised you would get behind the wheel.”

“I may be a bit drunk,” he admitted, “but I walked here from a friend’s house. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I need to offer you an explanation. An apology for my behavior.”

“I’m sure the police would be interested to hear it,” Kit interjected from her corner of the room.

“I can’t imagine any justification for your behavior, but I’m listening,” Rebecca told him.

The knowledge that he would be heard eased his conscience and his expression brightened considerably.

“When I first met Charlotte,” he began, “she was a mere curiosity. Jasmine harped on and on about you two and, I admit, I wanted to meet you both and judge for myself. After my father…” He faltered. “My father and mother separated and moved away several years ago, but I ceased to run in the same social circles as you and Charlotte even before then. I’d heard your names mentioned on occasion, but that was all, until I became involved with Jasmine.”

“Did you love Jasmine?” Rebecca asked, her body rigid.

“Of course not,” he scoffed. “And she didn’t love me, either.” His expression turned hopeful. “Does that knowledge help at all?”

“Yes, it’s such a help to know that the man supposedly in love with my sister was having a loveless affair with the woman married to our father.” Rebecca couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice.

“It’s not that simple,” Brendan objected.

“Did I give the impression that I thought it was simple?” Rebecca snapped. “It’s ridiculously complicated. Why insert yourself in Charlotte’s life if you knew it would lead to heartbreak?”

“I didn’t think it through,” he admitted. “I followed her from Oak Lodge that first night. I saw her going in and out with the books from the library and I…I was charmed. I never expected to actually develop feelings for her. I thought she was pretty and sweet, but that’s all.”

“Did Jasmine know?”

“No,” he insisted. “She’d been distant lately. I figured she was up to something. That was her way. Once I met Charlotte, I began to see Jasmine’s distance as my way out of the relationship.”

“I’d say Jasmine’s murder was a sure way out of the relationship,” Rebecca observed, arms crossed.

“That’s one of the main reasons I’m avoiding the police until they catch the real killer,” he argued. “Between my relationship with Jasmine and my family history, I was guaranteed to be the main suspect.”

“I think your choice to run off made you the main suspect,” Kit called, trying to stay out of the conversation. Too many bartenders behind the bar spoiled the drink, as her mother liked to say.

Brendan kept his gaze pinned on Rebecca. “The truth is that I love Charlotte, despite my best intentions.”

“But not enough to stick around after your actual girlfriend was murdered,” Rebecca pointed out.

“Don’t you see?” he said, his voice rising in anger. “I saw what my father went through. The interrogations. The arrest. The horrible gossip. My mother left town to get away from it. I didn’t want to go through that, not when I’m innocent.”

“The police have been to see your father,” Kit said.

Brendan’s jaw tightened. “I guess I’m not surprised, not that he would know anything. We don’t exactly have Sunday dinners together.”

“Why didn’t you go to your mother’s in Monterey?” Kit asked, crossing the room. “Why stick around here if you’re just waiting for the police to catch the killer?” She couldn’t help herself. Now that Brendan was opening up, she had questions that required answers.

Brendan looked at her like she had two heads. “Because of Charlotte, of course. Leaving here would be leaving her behind completely.”

“Charlotte is young and impressionable and she has her whole life ahead of her. A good life. She doesn’t need your kind of influence.” Rebecca’s tone was unyielding. Even Kit was mildly intimidated by the elder Tilton sister.

“I’m not here to win back Charlotte,” Brendan said.