Remembrance

by T K Eldridge

  Aunt Corinne had told Emlen to “let it go”, that it was what “all men did” and on and on. Uncle Jon had hugged her and tucked some cash into her purse without Corinne seeing it and whispered that she could do much better than ‘Smitty’ and waved her off.

  It had felt surprisingly liberating to drive away from Beacon Hill with her Range Rover packed up and her GPS set to Muckle Cove.

  It was time.

  Her mother’s murder had been unsolved for twenty years and she needed to at least try. Didn’t hurt that she’d already landed two good stories with the New Yorker, one while she was still at Harvard. Freedom to work wherever she wanted - wherever the stories took her - meant she really could stay in the Cove and investigate.

  Her first story started out as a stringer piece for the Boston Transcript about sexual harassment in Ivy League schools. It turned into a two-part expose on a sex-for-hire business being run out of several area universities using websites and cell phones to coordinate - and hosted on a well-known tech university’s server. That had upset her grandmother to the point where she blamed her grandfather’s sudden heart failure and subsequent death on the shame of their granddaughter publishing such ‘filth’. It didn’t matter to Grandmother that her grandfather had secretly encouraged Emlen by sending her notes and little gifts any time she had something published - whether it be her high school paper or a global magazine.

  Emlen had tried for years to be the ‘best little girl’ possible. It was pointless. Granted, it had been a lot easier to be ‘perfect’ when she was only home during the holidays, but she was not a society belle and she was pretty sure her mother would never have wanted that for her. Considering her mom had dragged her to the middle of nowhere in Muckle Cove, it was a pretty good guess.

  Her fingers curled around the folder that held the earliest police report on her mother’s murder. A wash of fury surged through Emlen as she remembered the first time she’d seen the report, nearly six months ago. She had called in a lot of favors and used some of her reporter’s network to get the report. Opening it, she flipped through the pages until she got to the report from the sheriff, about her. “It wasn’t until Camille Brewster’s will was read that anyone other than the O’Brien family showed any interest in the welfare of Camille’s child, Emlen. Now Camille’s sister is quite interested and while I have advocated for Emlen to stay with the O’Brien family, there is nothing I can do. The courts will always go with family over strangers. My heart breaks for the O’Briens. Eileen considers the child a daughter and is not going to handle this well.”

  Emlen closed the file and leaned back. It all made so much sense. Her aunt only wanted her around because of the money. Well, now all of that money was in Emlen’s hands. The full Trust had come to her on her twenty-fifth birthday - about seven months ago. Once she had the money, she’d hired a private investigator and, with a few drinks and dinners, got the files and reports. Brad thought she had become obsessed and unreasonable - that fight had been the last until she got the photo of his ‘work activities’.

  Now, Emlen was here, at the scene of the crime, in the town with the last people to know her mom. If there were any answers, this was the best place to find them.

  Emlen sighed and leaned back, closing her eyes. “Mom, I’m going to find who did this. I’m going to get you justice. I swear it.” A tear slid down her cheek, then another. She stiffened and sat up quickly at what she would swear was the feel of a hand on her cheek. The whispered words after, had her jumping to her feet, trembling all over.

  “I know you will, my jewel.”

  Chapter Five

  Every child who has lost a parent imagines the one lost is reaching out to them at some point or another. A song on the radio, a whiff of cologne or perfume, even the sound of the lost one’s voice, offering advice or comfort, was not unusual. What was unusual was that Emlen really didn’t have many memories to call on. She’d been just shy of four years old when her mother passed. How could she possibly remember the sound of her mother’s voice or the scent of her perfume?

  Hands shaking, Emlen ran them through her hair and took a few breaths. “Coffee. I need more coffee.” She almost spilled it as she refilled her cup and took her seat, sipping the steaming brew. She drank a bit more until her pulse had calmed back down. “Okay, time to set this stuff in order.”

  Getting to work, she took her sorted piles and put each in a labeled folder before tucking them into a metal file box. Fireproof and locking, Emlen wasn’t taking any chances that the information she’d worked hard to gather would be easily destroyed. Taking the time to start a pot of coffee, Emlen considered her next steps. Once everything was put away, she pulled her notepad closer and started a list. Now that she had a few more names, she needed to get more information, starting with Cullen O’Brien. A moment of weirdness as she realized the hot guy she had been checking out had almost become her brother. “Now, that would have been a disappointment.” She laughed to herself and kept writing. She wanted to find out about the sheriff, Joel Desantis, who had run the case in the beginning. Other officers that had any contact, any people they had considered suspects and even James O’Brien, Cullen’s father went on the list. She wanted to know about Cullen’s brother Connor, too - where was he? What did he possibly know? Both Cullen and Conner were old enough that they may well remember bits that might be helpful. She also had to corner her uncle and find out what he knew, if anything, about what had driven her mother to leave New York and come to the Cove.

  Every time she’d asked him or her aunt about her mother, they’d changed the subject. It didn’t take her long to figure out that Camille was considered the ‘black sheep’ of the family and a disgrace they didn’t care to discuss. After reading the police report comments by Sheriff Desantis, she understood even better why they had left her with the O’Brien family until the will had been probated.

  Locking the box, she shoved it into the cabinet in the kitchen island and set the stand mixer in front so it wasn’t easy to see at first glance. A quick look around and the only thing left out was her notepad, pen and a few empty file folders. Em pulled her Glock from her bag and slid into the credenza drawer by the door. Permits and all, it was still not something she was comfortable carrying all the time.

  A knock on the door made her jump. She took a breath, hand pressed to her chest as she worked to slow her startle reflex. Another slow breath as she passed the table, flipping the notebook closed and headed to the door. Emlen peeked outside and she couldn’t hide the smile as she opened the door. “Good morning, Cullen. What brings you to my door?”

  Cullen held up a bakery bag and grinned. “Wanted to welcome my new neighbor with some of the best pastries in the Cove.”

  “Sounds great. Come on in. I even have a fresh pot of coffee nearly done.”

  Cullen stepped inside “A match made in heaven - coffee and Ma Bressette’s apple and strawberry turnovers. I didn’t know which you might like, so I got some of both. She also makes peach and cherry, but nine a.m. is too late to get those when the tourists are still in town.”

  “Well, it’s good that you got my two favorites then,” she replied, heading to the cabinet to pull out a clean mug and snagging the fresh pot of coffee to bring to the table.

  “Were you working?” Cullen asked, spying the notebook, pen, folders and cup on the table. “I’m sorry, I should’ve called first.”

  “Just sorting through some files and making notes on my next story,” Emlen said, pouring him his coffee. “Sugar? Cream?”

  “Naw, black is fine,” he replied, settling in the seat opposite her workspace, the bag set on the table between them. “Got a plate and some napkins? These are messy. So much so that my brother calls them more finger-lickin’ good than that chicken stuff.”

  Barnabas came in then and started twining around Cullen’s feet, begging for a treat. Reaching down, Cullen scritched the cat and looked up at Emlen.

  Laughing, Emlen grabbed a plate and some napkins an
d set them down on the table, sitting in the seat and putting her things aside. “Your brother? Where is Connor now? Still in the Cove?”

  The look of surprise on Cullen’s face had her realizing her mistake as she looked up at him and he paused mid sip, setting down his mug and really looking at her. “Your eyes…”

  “Oh. Shit.” Emlen whispered and put her hands over her face.

  “Oh shit…what?” he asked, tone chilling.

  “I forgot my contacts.”

  “So it would seem. How about you tell me what’s really going on here?” Cullen demanded, both hands now on the edge of the table as he leaned a little closer.

  “I didn’t mean for you to find out like this. I was going to tell you later today, but you surprised me. See…we knew each other a long time ago.” Slowly, Emlen lifted her gaze to meet his and sighed. “But I need you to keep this quiet, all right? It’s important.”

  Cullen stared into her brilliant violet eyes and his own widened. “Emlen Brewster.” His smile slowly grew. “Goddamn Emlen Brewster! Oh, my folks are gonna be so glad to hear you’re alive and doing okay.” He reached for her hand and then paused. “Wait…keep it quiet? Why? Don’t you realize how many people in this town would be thrilled to know you’re back?”

  “Cullen, you can’t! I need to stay under the radar for now. I’m here, investigating my mother’s murder.” Emlen shot to her feet and started to pace. “Look, I know your family was good to me after it all happened, even though I don’t remember it, I appreciate it. But I’ve been using an alias and disguise so I could get information without people figuring out it’s me that’s asking. Please…” she turned, hands clasped together as she pleaded with him. “…please keep my secret. Just for a while longer, okay?”

  “Hey, easy. I’ll keep it for now.” Cullen offered his agreement and sighed. “But this is crazy, you know that, right? It’s not safe. They never caught the guy that did it.” Leaning back in the chair, he looked at her and shook his head. “I used to be a cop. I did some of my own investigating on the case, back when I was on the force. A couple of months after I started digging, something went down - something really bad - and I ended up quitting police work. Nothing I found was news or gave us any new leads. I don’t see—”

  Emlen cut him off. “I’m one of the best investigative reporters out there right now. If there is something to find, I’ll find it.” She sat again and reached for her cup, fingers tightening around the mug. “I’m not restrained by the same limitations a cop would be.”

  “You still need to be careful,” Cullen grumbled and started pulling pastries out of the bag and setting them on the plate. He was quiet while they each took one and started to eat. He put his down on the napkin and looked up at her. “You’re not doing this alone. I’m in.”

  “Wait, what? No, you’re not in this. She was my mother. This is my investigation.”

  “And if you want me to keep your secret, you’ll let me help.”

  “That’s blackmail!”

  “Yeah, it is. But I don’t need to lose any more sleep, worrying about you, all right? Just be gracious and accept my help. I won’t get in your way, but hey, I still have cop skills that may come in handy.”

  She thought about it for a moment, then sighed. “Yeah, I guess. But this is my investigation. No high-handed control grabs. Got it?”

  “Got it,” Cullen said, then grinned. “Wow, I can’t believe I’m sitting here with Emlen Brewster. Mom got copies of your New Yorker stories and put them in her scrapbook. She followed your life as best she could, but it was like you disappeared the day they took you away.” His smile faded, and he looked down into his cup. “Mom cried for weeks.” Cullen shook his head slightly, looking back up at her. “And you don’t remember anything from that time?”

  “No, not really. I get flashes of things - a woman rocking me in a chair and singing to me, a tall man letting me ride on his shoulders, but no real clear memories. My therapist says it was blocked by the shock and trauma.” Em’s fingers picked at the flaky pastry bits on her plate. “I don’t even have any memories of this place from that time, other than a couple of times my uncle brought me back to town to sign paperwork when I was older.”

  “You know my Dad was a suspect for a while because he was the one that found you and your Mom’s body, right?” Cullen watched her face as he spoke.

  “Yeah, I read that in the reports. They brought him in for questioning, but his alibi was solid and he had no motive. That, and if he’d really done it, I doubt they would’ve left me with your family for months.”

  “True, but it still ruined his life for a while. We even moved out of the cove for a few years to let things die down. His business was failing because people didn’t want to hire the guy that ‘maybe’ killed a young mother. They came back so Connor and I could finish high school where my dad and his father and his father’s father had gone to school, but it was tough. I bought the house from Dad, and he and Mom retired to Florida. Connor lives just outside of Boston - he’s a state cop now.”

  “So, you and Connor both became cops?”

  “Because of what happened, yeah. Both to you and your mom, and to my folks during the investigation. It bugged us that no one had been able to solve the case, so we decided we were going to be cops when we got older so we could solve it and show everyone, once and for all, it was never my Dad.”

  “I get that,” Emlen murmured, refilling their mugs and leaning back, gaze shifting from Cullen’s face to the view outside the window. Sunshine sparkled on the waves where a small sailboat skidded past, leaving a wake. “I’m sorry about what happened to your family.”

  Cullen blinked at her. “My family? Jeezus, Emlen, your family was taken from you. Yeah, my family had shit to deal with, but we got through it all together. I remember when your aunt came to take you away. You refused to let go of my Mom; she had to untangle your arms and hold you out away from her. Then your aunt grabbed you and slapped you. I thought my mother was going to beat your aunt right there and then. She turned away and staggered back to the house, her face white, her fingers clenched in fists so tight, her nails cut her palms. She wanted to keep you - considered you hers after all the time that had passed. Guess it was the money or something. They’d never talk about it, but I found Desantis’ report and read what he said.”

  “It was. I’ve seen that report, only just recently, and it explained a lot. I spent a lot of time at boarding schools,” Emlen said. “They can’t touch the money now, though. At least my uncle was smart enough to make good investments for me and keep my aunt’s hands off of the majority of it.”

  “I’m sorry.” He reached for her hand, taking it in his own. His thumb rubbed over her knuckles and he gave her a wry smile. “I’m really glad you were going to tell me, Emlen. I’m just going to find it tough to not tell my family you’re here and you’re okay. Don’t make me wait too long to let them know, all right?”

  “I’m glad I told you too. I realized I probably should when you were so kind yesterday, but I was afraid you’d not be so understanding about why I was hiding who I am.” His touch sent a flare of warmth from her fingers to her belly and she let out a shaky laugh. “And as weird as it sounds, I’m glad we didn’t end up siblings.”

  He laughed too and lifted her hand, kissing her fingers. “Oh, yeah, that would’ve made this really weird - because I find myself attracted to you, Miss Brewster.” Releasing her hand, he nodded to the window. “Want to get out of here for a bit? Let’s go for a walk on the beach and enjoy the day before it gets too warm, shall we?”

  “Sounds like a plan. Let me get my shoes and lock up.” Picking up their mugs, she put them in the sink and grabbed her shoes, keys and phone and met him by the kitchen door. “Thanks again for this, Cullen.”

  “For what?”

  “For understanding and being so welcoming. I’d forgotten what it was like to be around genuinely nice people.”

  Cullen held the door for her and made sure
it was locked behind them before taking her hand and heading down the weathered steps to the beach. “It makes me sad and angry to realize how little basic kindness you’ve experienced. I’ll have to see what I can do to change that for you.”

  Em pretended to not have heard him as they climbed over the rocks to the beach below.

  Chapter Six

  The walk on the beach had turned into dinner at Cullen’s place with a lot of laughter and stories shared from their childhoods. He’d kissed her goodnight when he left her at her door and Emlen still got a little grin on her lips when she thought of it. He was taking it slow and she was grateful. Even thought she had been done with Brad for a while, it was good to get to know Cullen as a friend first, considering everything else she had on her plate.

  A few articles on local events had made it to her usual sources and after almost two weeks in the Cove, Emlen felt settled and comfortable. And nervous. Today, Emlen and Cullen were going to sit down with Joel Desantis, the man who had been sheriff in the Cove when the murder happened. In his late sixties now, Desantis lived in a small house out on the point - the tip of the cove’s curl of rocks before the open sea.

  Checking her messenger bag once again, Emlen made sure she had notepad, pens, micro recorder, phone, keys and copies of a few pages of the police report in the event she had to help his memory. Cullen said he was still sharp, but she’d rather have too much information than need it and not have the notes.

  She couldn’t wait in the house any longer, so Emlen grabbed her keys and locked the door behind her, taking a seat in the glider on the side porch. The glitter of the water caught her attention and she sighed, setting the seat rocking as she tracked a sailboat across the cove towards the pier on the south end. Cullen was nice - really nice - and she felt a little guilty, using him like this. Oh, she could have probably managed to get the interview with Desantis without him, but it was a lot easier to use Cullen’s connections. Whatever it took to get the answers she wanted - no, needed - then she’d do it. She owed it to her mother to find out what happened and get her justice. It was what had driven her, motivated her, even when everyone around her told her she should let it go, leave it to the professionals, and so on. It was why she’d pushed herself to be the best investigative reporter she could become. Her aunt had wanted her to go for a business degree or political science or something that would bring more prestige to the family name - but that wasn’t Emlen’s path, no more than it had been her mother’s path. She could still hear her aunt’s strident tone.