Marriage and Murder: Solving for Pie: Cletus and Jenn Mysteries Series Book #2

by Penny Reid

  “But Cletus—”

  “I don’t have time for your wordy protestations. I need to call George.” In fact, I was already pulling out my phone.

  “The stripper?” Jethro cocked an eyebrow at me, his voice hitching. “What are you calling George for?”

  “George can also do weddings. I mean, officiate them. I already have the marriage license. Hey, Duane”—I snapped at the surlier of the twins—“run over to Jenn’s place and grab the license. I know you miss driving American cars. Take Jess. The license is in the top drawer of the table as you walk in.” I turned back to the phone, mumbling to myself, “I’ll get him over here now. As soon as Jenn wakes, we’re getting married.”

  I was tired of being left out of decisions about Jenn, first at the police station when she was arrested, and now here at the hospital after she’d almost died. And what if something happened to me? I didn’t want to think about how my family would go about trying to decide on my treatment. I wanted Jenn to take the lead. I wanted it to be her. Enough was enough.

  “This is madness, Cletus. What do we tell people?” Ashley was still protesting, but I also saw she’d begun to seriously consider taking over the wedding she’d planned. The wheels were turning in her head and, based on that look in her eye, they were headed in the right direction.

  She just needed a little push.

  “Tell them nothing.” I shrugged. “Besides, they’re all the same people you would’ve invited anyway.” I turned from my family and selected George’s number from my contacts. “Here’s an idea: ask Drew. See what he says. You’re not marrying yourself.”

  As far as I was concerned, the matter was settled. I lifted the phone to my ear and listened to it ring, waiting for George to pick up.

  But I did turn over my shoulder just in time to watch Ashley face Drew, a giant hopeful grin on her face, and ask, “What do you think? Will you marry me?”

  The big guy gave her a whisper of a smile with his mouth, but in his eyes were all the stars in the sky as he said, “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Jennifer and I were married a little past midnight.

  She’d woken up around 10:00 PM and had asked for me repeatedly before I’d been allowed back to see her. I’d arrived with George in tow, claiming he was her minister. Ash and Billy snuck in a few minutes later to serve as our witnesses and best peoples—Ashley as the maid of honor, Billy as the best man.

  Jennifer, not at all dazed, seemed eager to get married, especially after it was explained that Ashley and Drew would take over the wedding next week. Furthermore, she appeared quite pleased at the idea of being married by a former Navy SEAL AND stripper.

  She held perfectly still, resting in the bed with a small, expectant smile on her face, holding my hand as we recited our perfunctory vows. It was all over in five minutes, but Ashley was a blubbering mess by the end of it. I loved that she cried so freely, allowing her emotions to ebb and flow as needed, reckoning it was good for her soul and the one she carried.

  We signed the license, asked the nurse to make a few copies, and I made a mental note to get the original filed first thing in the morning.

  Jennifer, my wife, was understandably weary. Thus, after our nuptials, George, Ash, and Billy snuck out and I pulled a chair over to her bed. But I didn’t sit. Jenn couldn’t move her neck and I’d be out of her field of vision if I used the chair. Reaching for her hand, I reminded myself not to hold it too tightly.

  “There’s no rush to talk about what happened,” I said, ensuring my fingertips remained gentle as a feather in her hair. “But I want you to know, you’re safe.”

  She didn’t nod, but she did blink, like the memory of what had happened to her overwhelmed her vision. I did not squeeze her hand.

  Many seconds passed before she finally managed to speak. “It was terrifying.”

  I absorbed her words, digested them, and said what I’d always wished someone had told me when I’d been through the most traumatic event of my life ’til now, “It will haunt you.”

  I held her eyes fast, letting her see I knew what it was to be terrified, and continued, “I will be with you every step of the way, holding your hand, following where you lead. I think therapy is part of the answer, but I’m not going to push you in that direction unless I reckon you need it.”

  She sniffled, trying to smile. “I think therapy is probably a good idea.”

  “Excellent. I’ll talk to Shelly tomorrow. We’ll get you the best.” I did squeeze her hand then, just a little. “But Jenn, it is over. You never have to go back there. You have a future, and it will be beautiful. Having a beautiful future doesn’t lessen what you’ve lived through, it doesn’t mean you’re not grieving hard enough or that you’re ignoring weighty matters. It means you honor everything you’ve been through, all the hellish obstacles, and you recognize that you’re worthy of happiness, of beauty, of peace.”

  Tears had started leaking out of her eyes while I spoke. Her face didn’t crumple, but her chin gave a few shakes. I kept mine steady. She didn’t need me sobbing all over her. She needed comfort, that was my job now. Just like it had been my family’s job to give me comfort.

  “Don’t say anything. I’m right about this.” I gave her a somber nod, and it made her lips curve. “Also, you would do well to remember one of the main reasons you love me so much is because I’m always right.”

  A sad little laugh erupted from her and she immediately winced. I winced automatically in response and kissed the back of her hand. I was sorry I’d made her laugh. But also, I wasn’t sorry, because she’d just proven to herself she still could.

  Jennifer sighed, her eyes staring forward, but turning inward. I used the ensuing silence to take a survey of her bruises, the big one on her forehead in particular, and all the scrapes and cuts, cataloguing each one, grateful that she was so strong and smart and brave.

  “Cletus,” she said my name on a sigh, interrupting my inspection. “I love you so much.”

  “I love you,” I said, renewed emotion clogging my throat now that the ceremony was over and I had nothing to do but stay close and hold her hand. “But you knew that already.”

  “But you know I love hearing it.”

  “Are you in pain?” I asked, needing to know.

  “They gave me some stuff that seems to be doing the trick. Nothing major, ’cause they’re still worried about the concussion.” Her mouth moved like it was going to yawn. She suppressed it. I got the sense yawning would hurt. “I can’t wait to be able move my neck. That probably hurts worst of all.”

  “I’m going to become a massage therapist,” I said and decided as soon as the words left my mouth. “Also, Jethro and I are going to build you a workstation at the bakery, a special one you can use while you’re in the wheelchair.” Another something I’d just said and decided.

  At this news, she gave me a gentle smile, her gaze turning dreamy as it moved over my face. “You know what? I’m glad you’re here, husband.”

  My heart tossed itself against my rib cage, a reminder that it belonged to her, wholly and completely. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, wife.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  *Cletus*

  “Words are easy, like the wind; Faithful friends are hard to find.”

  William Shakespeare, The Passionate Pilgrim

  They sent Freddie Boone and Jackson James to question Jenn two days later.

  Just to be an ass, I’d wanted to ask, Where’s the FBI? Don’t they tell y’all what to do and who is guilty of what crime? but I didn’t. The last several months of failed police investigation hadn’t been Freddie and Jackson’s fault.

  Even so, as I watched them over the rim of my morning coffee, gently questioning Jenn, my tongue tasted of bitterness and resentment. I had no love loss for Elena, nor Mr. Miller. They were dead, fine. And the sheriff’s office was just now—three days after it happened—getting around to documenting all the details? Fine.

  But the difference betwee
n the resources made available to Sheriff James’s office during the days after Kip’s murder versus Jenn’s abduction? That rankled. My feathers were officially ruffled. Riled even.

  The only reason the FBI had shown up and donated resources to Sheriff James after Kip’s death—parking that damn van outside Diane’s house, tapping her, watching her—was because of Repo’s relationship with Diane. In retrospect, it felt like the only reason Diane had been the prime suspect was because some federal employee had wanted it that way. They wanted Repo to turn state’s evidence against the Wraiths, they figured they could use Diane to get to Repo, and so Diane—they’d decided—killed Kip.

  Never mind the fact that Elena’s alibi and version of events from that night had more holes than a colander. And who had paid the price for the police ignoring Elena as a suspect? Jenn.

  Jennifer had paid the price.

  “Cletus.” Jackson glanced down at his notepad, scratching behind his ear. “You can stop plotting our murders with your eyeballs any time now.”

  “But I haven’t finished,” came my very calm reply.

  Boone, crossing his arms, glared at me. “You blame us? For what happened to Jenn?”

  Jennifer closed her eyes and sighed. “Can we just finish with the questions before y’all start with that? The person to blame is Elena Wilkinson.”

  “Who would’ve been in jail if y’all had done your job”—I lifted my cup toward the pair—“which means you’re to blame. Case closed.”

  Boone chuckled, though he did not look at all amused. “Well, if it matters, Elena was our prime suspect and has been for weeks. So . . .” He shrugged, looking intensely frustrated.

  I frowned. It was severe. “Is that so? Then what the hell—”

  “Wait, wait a minute.” Jenn lifted both hands. “Does this mean my mother isn’t a suspect anymore?”

  Jackson and Boone shared a look before the blond deputy shook his head, his mouth in a regretful looking line. “I’m sorry, Jenn. Your momma is still very much a suspect. There’s an APB out for her arrest.”

  “Since when?” I started to cross my arms and stopped when I remembered I still held a full coffee cup. I hadn’t been aware of any APB.

  “Since yesterday, when we found out the lodge ordered the same kind of rope used to strangle your father,” Boone answered shortly, flipping through his notepad.

  “Was there an APB for Elena? Ever?” I knew I sounded salty and I was fine with sounding salty.

  Neither of them responded. Both avoided my eyes.

  “Well, that’s just great. There’s an APB out for Diane since yesterday. Meanwhile, Elena abducts Jenn. And while we’re on the subject, how’d Elena kill Miller without y’all knowing?”

  “Come on, Cletus,” Jackson near growled, looking as irritated as I felt. “You know we don’t have the resources to follow Elena Wilkinson around.”

  “But you have the resources to park a van outside of Diane’s house and watch her for weeks?” I countered calmly, as though I were merely curious.

  A flash of what looked like anger burned brightly behind Boone’s glare. “They had their investigation—which we had no control over—and we had ours. If you want me to deny that Diane Donner was and is a suspect, I can’t. But they didn’t give us any resources to help solve Kip Sylvester’s death unless it suited their goals. We are doing our best with what we have. Regardless, finding the real killer has always been our goal, not harassing folks.”

  “Oh? Like arresting the daughter of the deceased at the reading of her father’s will?” I stroked my beard, infusing my tone with more calm curiosity. “You mean like that?”

  “Off the record—” Jackson sighed tiredly, swinging his apologetic stare between me and Jenn “—if we’d had a choice, that never would’ve happened. And I don’t know if it makes any difference to y’all, but Boone and Williams volunteered. It was going to happen no matter what, we couldn’t stop it, and Boone and Williams wanted to make sure you were treated kindly.”

  Absorbing this insight, I narrowed my eyes on the deputies and looked at them. Really, sincerely looked at them. Boone looked like he’d lost weight, his hair and beard needed a trim, his eyes were puffy and fatigued. And Jackson . . . well, about the same as Boone.

  “And we didn’t even know Miller was missing.” Jackson rubbed a hand over his weary features. “The man has been homeless for months, living out of his car. No one reported Miller missing, his kids had no idea and his ex-wife doesn’t keep in touch.”

  “I didn’t know Miller was homeless,” I said because they’d caught me off guard.

  This explained why I hadn’t been able to find a forwarding address for Miller and why all attempts to track him down had been fruitless. It also explained why Isaac hadn’t tried—or maybe he hadn’t been able to?—bug Miller like he’d bugged Jenn’s house.

  If I’d known I wasn’t looking for a house or apartment, maybe I could’ve found Miller and questioned the man before Elena—

  Well. No use thinking about that.

  “Why did Elena kill Miller?” Boone, seemingly done with defending himself—or taking a short break from it—addressed his questions to Jenn. “Did Elena say why she killed him?”

  “She was ranting, rambling. I wasn’t thinking about her words, I was really just trying to keep the car from going off a cliff.” Jenn twisted the blanket over her lap with her fingers. She was doing much better today, her color was better and her eyes were brighter. They had her sitting up, but she still wore the neck brace and both her legs were in casts.

  Jennifer had already relayed the details of her story twice to Jackson and Boone but they hadn’t yet gone over what Elena had said to Jennifer. It wasn’t a long story—basically consisting of being drugged, waking up with her hands tied to the steering wheel at night with no headlights and no brakes as Elena forced her to try to keep the car from driving off a cliff with Miller’s dead body in the back seat—but my blood pressure had threatened to kick the lid off my temper each time.

  This never should’ve happened to her. Elena should have been in prison.

  If only Diane had ignored Jenn’s text message and stayed in the barn that night.

  If only Repo hadn’t misunderstood what he’d seen and hadn’t whisked Diane away that night.

  If only Isaac hadn’t shot Kip, but instead held Elena at the murder scene and called the police that night.

  If only Isaac had killed Elena when she ran away from the car into the woods instead of firing warning shots over her head into the bakery that night.

  If only Miller had left the gun where Isaac had dropped it that night, next to Elena, instead of taking it, putting Elena’s glove back on, and using the gun to blackmail both Elena and Diane.

  If only . . .

  “I can understand that your focus was on staying alive, but if you can remember anything Elena said, anything at all, it would be very helpful, especially about Miller.” Boone gave Jenn a soft look heavily seasoned with guilt.

  “Okay . . .” She gathered a deep breath, stared over their heads at the wall. “Elena said Miller was trying to force her to give him back the farm.”

  “But you inherited the farm, right?” Boone scribbled something on his notepad. “You inherited everything.”

  “Yes.” Jenn started to nod. She stopped herself, wincing. “Everything but my father’s car. But it was obvious to us during the will reading that Elena thought she was going to inherit everything. She was very surprised.” Jenn glanced to me.

  “This is exceptionally true,” I confirmed. “If you need someone else to corroborate, you could ask Billy or Mr. Leeward. They’ll both attest to the fact that Elena had no idea Kip had changed his will.”

  Boone nodded, still scribbling. “Do you know why your father changed his will?”

  “Don’t answer that,” I cut in, plotting Boone’s murder in my head all over again. “Deputy Boone, you know that’s a question Lawyer Genevieve Taylor has instructed Jennifer not t
o answer unless Lawyer Genevieve Taylor is present.” Then to Boone I said, “Please keep your questions focused on the car crash.”

  “Fine,” he grounded out, sighed, then asked, “Jenn, do you remember anything else Elena said about Miller?”

  “Um, yes. She talked about how Miller had betrayed her, tried to blackmail her.” Jennifer’s words were halting, and her eyebrows pulled together as though finding this information within her brain took effort. “She said she’d strangled—she’d killed my father with rope she’d taken off his boat.”

  “So you’re saying Elena confessed to your father’s murder?” Jackson perked up at this.

  “She said she’d used the rope from his fishing boat in the Keys and strangled him, more or less. She said she hated the boat and the house down in the Keys, and she hated me, and him.” Jenn seemed to squirm, her gaze anxious. “Do you think this might help my mother? Do you think you have enough to determine Elena killed my father?”

  “I don’t know, Jenn.” Boone gave his head a little shake, still scribbling. “Why did Elena hate him? Did she say?”

  “Uh . . .” Jenn closed her eyes. “Because of her sister? She really hated the boat. But my father, I think she said something about blaming him for her sister going to prison last year. At least that’s the impression I got. Sorry.”

  I resisted the urge to touch her, to tell Boone and Jackson that their time was up. It was important she get these details out. Not just for the current investigation into her abduction, and not just for the murder investigation of Kip Sylvester, but also for Jenn’s peace of mind. Understanding why something terrible happens—or what the perpetrator was thinking at the time—can sometimes help a victim process what happened.

  For example, I knew why my father had done what he had to me, to Billy, to our mother, to our family. I didn’t think his reasons were good ones, but that was also helpful. He did what he did because he was—is—evil. And so, since he was—is—evil, I never had to think about him or pay him any mind other than plotting his murder.