“Not a problem. You know that, Brandon. It’s a good thing your housekeeper called about the gunshots. I’m glad we were able to get here in time.”
“Your men did a good job.”
“Glad to hear it. They’re good boys. I just had a word with Benson over by the carriage house before I came in.”
Guilt jolted through Brandon with the force of an electric shock. He gripped his cane in both hands. He hadn’t even thought to check on Josef. “My chauffeur. Is he all right?”
“Seems okay. Pretty scared. Poor guy was shaking.”
Brandon would have to find a way to make it up to him. Extra vacation time. Trip to Florida. Something. Shelley, too. She’d kept her head and called the police. Interesting that the one employee he couldn’t account for was the one he and Marie had the most reason to suspect. “You might want to send a car over to my maid’s house. Isabella Faust.”
“Why is that?”
“She’s been acting a little strange lately. And I have reason to believe she might be out to get Marie.”
“Marie? You’re sure she was the target in this incident, too?”
“She was the target. Believe me, if whoever was shooting that gun had wanted me dead, I wouldn’t be talking to you now. He was gunning for Marie.”
Brandon tried to read the chief’s eyes. Hammer didn’t like Marie, and he didn’t believe much of what she said. He’d made that much clear. Maybe once she showed him the sketch they’d found, he’d reassess her theories.
Brandon sure had. At least he wanted to.
Hammer finally nodded. “All right. I’ll have someone check up on Ms. Faust. Anyone else I should know about?”
Brandon thought for a moment. “Ned Perry, the developer.”
Hammer nodded. “So he’s been after you, too? I should have known. The man is a making a nuisance of himself. Badgering folks all around town to sell their waterfront.”
“I think he and Isabella might be doing a little scheming to get their hands on Drake House.”
“Scheming? How would shooting at Marie Leonard help them get Drake House?”
“Marie thinks they want to cover up something she has found.”
“Marie thinks, eh?” The chief didn’t look impressed. “And what do you think?”
Good damn question. Brandon shifted his feet on the thick oriental rug. He gripped the head of his cane. Marie’s theory still didn’t feel right to him. But what was the alternative? The words of a ghost? Words he hadn’t even heard himself? “I’m with Marie.”
The chief smiled in an unsuccessful attempt to cover up his skepticism. “All right, then. I’ll hear Ms. Leonard out. Any more ideas about who might have declared target practice tonight?”
None that had panned out. “Come on in the kitchen. Marie’s in there and she has something to show you. It might make everything more clear.” At least Brandon could hope. He led Hammer through the halls, past the formal dining room and into the kitchen.
Marie and Shelley stood in the food preparation area, leaning on opposite countertops. Even though Brandon had helped Marie bandage her leg and had given her instructions to keep it elevated, she was back on her feet, probably still feeling too shaken to sit for long.
Hammer focused on Marie. The lines in his jowly face deepened with concern. “How is it you were involved in two life-threatening incidents in one day, Miss Leonard?”
Marie met his eyes. Her back stiffened just a little. “Not by choice, Chief.”
“Brandon said you have something to show me?”
“I do.” She pushed away from the counter and held out the rolled paper. “We found this hidden in the hollow base of a bench in the east garden. I think my father stashed it there.”
The chief unfurled the roll. Plucking a pair of reading glasses out of his pocket, he slipped them on his pudgy nose and squinted down at the sketch. “A car?”
Shelley inched closer, craning her neck to see. She cradled a tea cup in her hands, a sweet scent wafting over the brim.
“The undercarriage of a car,” Brandon said. “And look at the spike positioned by the gas tank.”
Hammer frowned. “What is this supposed to be?”
“The evidence you wanted.” Marie’s voice was low but rang with conviction.
Brandon hoped Hammer would see it the same way.
The chief focused on Marie. “Evidence of what?”
Marie didn’t miss a beat. “Charlotte Drake’s murder.”
A choked whimper came from Shelley’s throat.
The chief held the paper at arm’s length, as if suddenly afraid it would bite him. “Is this real?”
Marie’s eyes flashed. Her hands tightened to fists by her sides. “You mean did I quickly draw it up?” she said sarcastically. “Of course it’s real. It’s just what I told you it is.”
Brandon moved to Marie’s side. He knew she was frustrated with her push and pull with the police. But if she wanted Hammer to look into the case, if she wanted him to switch the deaths from accidents to murders, if she wanted him to call in the state police to investigate, she had to be more diplomatic. He rested a hand on her arm.
She let out a pent-up breath. “I’m sorry, Chief. I’ve had a tough day.”
“No offense taken, young lady. I’ll take this back to the station and look into it along with the rest of the leads we find.”
“No.” Marie reached out to grasp the paper.
Hammer pulled it out of her range. “What do you mean, no?”
“I want to see your photos of the vehicle,” Marie said. “The one Charlotte died in.”
Brandon was aware of Shelley stepping closer behind him.
Hammer kept his eyes on Marie. He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t let you do that.”
“Why not?”
“You aren’t family. You don’t own the car. You’re not part of the investigation. In short, I have no reason to show you anything.”
Brandon took a deep breath. “Then maybe you can show me.”
Marie whirled to glance up at him. Turning back to Hammer, she nodded. “You can’t say Brandon doesn’t have reason to look at the photos.”
Hammer watched Brandon intently, as if trying to read his thoughts.
Strange. Brandon hadn’t felt scrutinized like this by a police officer since he’d been caught drinking beer underage during his first year of college. A lifetime ago. He was more used to the chief of police handling his routine calls personally, not searching for the truth in his eyes.
Finally the chief nodded, as if he’d made up his mind about something. “There are no photos.”
“No photos?” If it was possible for Marie’s eyes to grow wider, they did. “What do you mean? Aren’t they part of the accident report? Isn’t taking pictures of a car involved in a fatal accident routine?”
“My officers must have overlooked it.”
An uneasy feeling crept up the back of Brandon’s neck. That could be true, except an officer hadn’t overseen the accident report. As with most of the things involving the Drakes, Chief Hammer had hovered over the incident personally. And although Hammer had a reputation for being lazy, Brandon couldn’t believe he was this lazy, not about something as serious as a death, accidental or not. “Why weren’t pictures taken, Chief?”
Hammer looked down at the tile floor, the overhead lights reflecting off his scalp. “I thought…I thought it might get…inconvenient.”
“Inconvenient?” Brandon parroted. “What in the hell does that mean?”
Hammer raised his eyes. “I don’t think you want me to spell it out.”
What was he getting at? Brandon had no clue. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“You don’t need pictures of her car,” Shelley said.
All of them turned to look at the housekeeper.
She gripped her tea, her hands shaking so badly the steaming liquid sloshed over the edge of the cup and onto reddened fingers. She stared from Brandon to Marie, as if unaw
are she was burning herself. “The car itself. Her car. It’s in a salvage yard outside town.”
“It’s still around?” The chief stared at Shelley as if she were speaking another language. “It was supposed to go to a crusher. It was supposed to be destroyed.” He glanced at Brandon, his expression strangely apologetic.
“Shelley, are you sure it’s still there?” Marie asked.
The woman nodded her gray head vigorously. “I see it every week.”
“You must be mistaken.” Again Hammer shot Brandon that strange look.
“I’m not mistaken. Believe me. I pay the rent, and Joey keeps it for me. Just like it was. I visit it every week. It helps me remember. Helps me keep her alive.”
Brandon stared at his housekeeper. The woman visited the car in which Charlotte died? She paid someone to keep it for her? The idea was disturbing. Twisted.
Shelley’s face crumpled. Tears rolled down her taut cheeks. “That paper, what does it say? What does it mean?”
Marie stepped toward Shelley. She laid a gentle hand on the woman’s arm. “Charlotte didn’t die in an accident, Shelley. I’m so sorry.”
“What are you saying?”
“That paper and the car you’ve been caring for prove that Charlotte was murdered.”
“Just a minute, Ms. Leonard,” the chief boomed. “It doesn’t prove any such thing.”
“It will when we examine the car,” Marie insisted. “We’ll know then.”
Shelley’s tears gushed harder. The woman’s wiry body convulsed in a sob. “Who could have done that?” She focused on Marie, and for a moment Brandon thought he saw a flash of hatred in her eyes.
“Calm down, Shelley,” he commanded. “It wasn’t Marie, for God’s sake. But with your help, we can find out who did it. We’re going to find out.”
Shelley drew in a shuddering breath and nodded. Blindly she set her cup on the counter, then covered her face and softly cried.
Marie stepped beside her and placed a tender hand on the woman’s shoulder. She said something soft in her ear, too quiet for Brandon to catch.
“I’m sorry,” Shelley whispered. “So sorry.” She reached for Marie, and Marie wrapped the woman in her arms.
Brandon looked back at Hammer. “I think you should call in the state police.”
“You really want to do that?”
Brandon frowned. Strange. The chief’s words sounded ominous, almost threatening, but his tone of voice was just plain worried. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“You want it straight?” Hammer asked in a low voice.
Brandon answered with a nod.
“Because if your wife was murdered, the state’s first suspect is going to be the husband, that’s why.”
Understanding rippled through Brandon. Suddenly it all made sense. The chief’s hovering. His laziness in taking photos of Charlotte’s car. Maybe even his reluctance to look at Edwin’s death as anything but an accident. “You think I was responsible?”
Hammer waved off the words. “I don’t think anything.”
“You do. And you’re protecting me.”
Hammer didn’t confirm or deny, he just held up the paper in his hand. “What do you want me to do with this? I’ll handle it however you say.”
Brandon shook his head. He’d never needed Chief Hammer’s special protection. He’d never asked for it, never wanted it. And although he now realized it was merely part of his birthright, part of being a Drake in a town like Jenkins Cove, he felt a little sick at the double standard wealth gave him.
He looked Hammer straight in the eye. “Give the sketch to the state police. And while you’re at it, call them right now and have someone meet us at the salvage yard owned by Shelley’s friend. We have a car to examine.”
Chapter Fourteen
The sun was starting to pink the eastern sky by the time Marie, Brandon and Chief Hammer met a Maryland state police detective named Randall McClellan at Joey Jansen’s Auto Salvage east of Jenkins Cove on Route 43. Tucked into the base of a narrow neck of land clustered with vacation homes, the junkyard consisted of two corrugated buildings surrounded by rusted and twisted skeletons of cars and signs proclaiming Off-Season Boat Storage, Cheap Prices!
Joey, a man young enough to be Shelley’s son and with a facial tick that looked to Marie as if he were constantly winking at her, led them to one of the steel sheds. He unlocked the door, apologized that there were no electric lights in the place, then announced he was going back to bed.
Marie let the men lead the way. A mixture of covered boats and a few pieces of farm machinery packed the large shed. The detective led them through the narrow paths between covered hulks with the flashlight he’d brought from his car. Finally his beam shone on a blackened and twisted steel skeleton against the back wall.
Charlotte’s sports car.
Even though it had been six months since the fire, the stench of burned plastic and upholstery made Marie’s eyes water as she stepped close. Oily and thick, the odor clogged her throat just as it had in the psychomanteum. She could still hear the roar of the fire echoing through her memory.
Marie watched Brandon as he studied the car. Seeing the vehicle where Charlotte had died was hard enough for her. It had to be excruciating for him. Without thinking, she reached for his hand.
He squeezed her fingers and offered a tight-lipped grimace. “I’ll look under the rear bumper, see if the spike is there.”
His eyes looked tired, empty. Marie knew he was torturing himself by making himself face Charlotte’s death all over again. But to what end? To punish himself for past mistakes? To reinforce the wall he’d built around his feelings for Marie? To give him the impetus to push her away again? She couldn’t let him do it. Not now that they were so close to resolving this, so close to proving he had no reason for his crippling guilt.
She held his hand fast. “Let the detective look.”
He held her gaze for a moment. And for that moment, time seemed to stop. Finally he nodded. “You’re right. It’s up to the police now, not us. Not anymore.” He glanced at the detective and shifted to the side, giving him room to pass.
As if purposely unaware of their drama, Detective McClellan took one last look at the sketch they’d given him and moved to the car’s rear. He crouched low and directed his beam under the back bumper, sweeping the undercarriage with light.
Marie forced herself to breathe. If the spike was no longer attached to the car, she didn’t know what she would do. She was out of leads and she was almost out of hope. Tonight, for the first time, the reality that someone wanted her dead had finally penetrated her thick skull. And worse, she understood that in protecting her, Brandon was in danger, too. She wanted to be done with this investigating stuff. She wanted the professionals to take over. She wanted the sketch to be out of her hands, and there be no more reason for fear.
But more than any yearning she had for safety, she wanted Brandon to know Charlotte hadn’t killed herself. That for all his mistakes, all the mistakes everyone had made ten years ago, there was still a future for him and for her. Maybe even the promise of happiness.
Detective McClellan straightened, nearly as tall as Brandon himself. Marie searched his face for a clue of what he’d seen, but his flinty eyes were unreadable. He turned to Brandon. “We’ll have to take the car.”
“Fine with me.”
“And I’d like to look around your property. And inside the house. I can have an evidence crew there this afternoon. Is that a problem, or should I call a judge?”
“You don’t need a warrant. You’ll have free run of the place.”
A trill shimmered up Marie’s spine. She wanted this so badly, she was afraid to speak, afraid to hope. But she had to know. She forced the words from her mouth. “Does this mean you’ll look into Charlotte’s and my father’s deaths?”
Detective McClellan’s mouth flattened to a line. “I have evidence sufficient to believe Charlotte Drake was murdered.”
Relief warmed her l
ike a double shot of brandy, making her feel light-headed and unsteady on her feet. “And my father?”
The detective peered down at her, his expression unchanging. “I’m sorry. Unless more evidence comes to light in your father’s case, I have no reason to believe a crime was committed.”
“I’LL HIRE A PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR. A professional. Someone good. He’ll find the evidence the police need.” Brandon watched Marie’s face as Josef drove them back to Drake House. The morning sun had crept into the eastern sky, but even its warm rays couldn’t dispel the darkness of the state police detective’s pronouncement about Edwin’s case.
Marie shook her head. “I’ll keep looking. I still have some of his things to go through. I’m sure I’ll find something…Something has to help.”
She looked tired. Hurting. And Brandon didn’t know what to do about it. He’d never felt so powerless in his life. “Now that the police believe Charlotte was murdered, it’s only a matter of time. You know that, right? Edwin had to be the one who hid that sketch. He had to be killed because he knew who murdered Charlotte. When Detective McClellan finds who that is, he’ll solve Edwin’s murder as well.”
“I know.” She smiled up at him. “The important thing is that you know Charlotte didn’t commit suicide. You know it wasn’t your fault.”
He let her words sink into him, let them circulate through his bloodstream, warming him to the core. But as good as it felt, he knew it wasn’t that simple. Even though he knew Charlotte hadn’t killed herself, he wasn’t absolved of everything. “I made a lot of mistakes. I hurt Charlotte. I hurt you.”
“You hurt yourself.”
He nodded. But that wasn’t important. Not as important as the burden of knowing he hurt people he cared for, people who cared for him. He looked down at his hands, suddenly aware he was twisting the wedding band on his finger.
He hadn’t felt right about removing it when Charlotte died. He’d worn it like a penance. A constant reminder of what he’d done to her, the tragedy he’d caused. But now that he knew he hadn’t caused that tragedy, it felt blasphemous to treat a wedding band as punishment. Somehow it felt disrespectful to Charlotte. To the wonderful woman she was.
Christmas Awakening Page 13
