Witness to Murder

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  “I remember it well, but it seems like forever ago already. So much has changed.”

  Their gazes met, and Brody’s heart did a little jig. Did he read personal interest in Hallie’s eyes? He’d better, because he meant to pursue this woman with serious intentions as soon as they could get a breather from crises.

  A car behind them honked. “Oops!” Brody headed the Impala through the intersection. “Did you get the license plate number?”

  “Number, make, model, the ding in the left rear fender.”

  “At least one of us got something right.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up, Jordan. We could be making a big deal out of nothing, but at least we can give the information to the police when we get home.”

  “Home nothing.” He pulled into the parking lot of a grocery store and stopped the car. “I’m reporting it now. If this is your stalker who followed us all the way to Thief River Falls, I want him traced ASAP.” He punched a number into his cell phone.

  Hallie patted him on the knee. “Make yourself happy, ox. But it seems to me that we were following him.”

  Brody scowled at her as he was connected to the office of Detective Millette. His scowl deepened when voicemail picked up. He left a terse message and his contact information then snapped his phone shut.

  “Back to plan A,” Hallie said.

  They retraced their path to the Draytons’ neighborhood. Brody took one side of the street, and Hallie took the other. Twenty minutes later, they met at the car.

  “I got zip,” he told Hallie. “Nobody home.”

  “I found one very nice little old lady. She said the folks around here respect James and love Cheryl, and we should find most of them gathered at the funeral home. She’d be there herself if she wasn’t feeling so poorly. Oh, and do you know what else she told me?” Her smug smile belonged on the Sphinx. “The Draytons moved here from ‘up north.’”

  “North! There’s not much north of here but Canada.”

  “Oooh, give the man a prize.”

  “That’s why we haven’t found a U.S. birth certificate for Alicia,” they said in unison.

  Brody headed the car toward the funeral home. “There’s one problem with the theory. My research has shown that James is a natural born American.”

  “Yes, but maybe Cheryl isn’t. If Alicia is hers from a prior relationship, no records would show on this side of the border. Come to think of it, as long as we’re digging on foreign soil, we might as well go whole hog and try to see if there’s a record of a prior marriage for her in Canada. Checking out another angle can’t hurt.”

  “I like the way you think, woman.” Brody shot her a grin.

  Shortly, they parked outside the funeral parlor. Hallie joined him on the sidewalk going into the building. He looked at his watch.

  Her warm hand closed around his wrist. “Yes, I know we’re late, but perhaps unwelcome guests are best served by slipping quietly into the back of the chapel.”

  “We won’t go unnoticed forever. It’ll be interesting to see what fireworks let loose then.”

  Wound tight and expectant, Brody followed Hallie into the building. If either of Alicia’s parents knew anything about their daughter’s murder, an emotional moment like this service might supply the crack in their armor that he needed to help Damon’s case.

  SIXTEEN

  As the service concluded, Hallie touched the corners of her eyes with a tissue, careful not to smear her makeup. That Steven Curtis Chapman song about a life too soon over had nearly ripped her apart. She kept thinking about her friend Teresa, and how her young life was stolen by warped and manipulated thinking. Alicia, too, had been lost to something wicked in someone’s heart.

  She stood with the other guests and let people file past them to greet James and Cheryl, who waited near the front, flanked by live plants and sprays of flowers. The pastor had announced that the interment of the urn containing Alicia’s ashes would be a private moment at a later time. Today, guests were invited to partake of a light lunch before heading home. The smell of coffee wafted from another room.

  A touch on her arm drew Hallie’s attention to Brody.

  “How about we let the group around the Draytons thin out a bit,” he said. “You visit with the women, and I’ll mingle with the guys and ask a few questions. Believe it or not, guys are aching to talk when they think they have information someone else doesn’t.”

  Hallie chuckled. “I can easily believe that. My uncle always said the men down at the coffee shop jawed more than any group of women he’d ever heard.”

  “Sounds about right.” The Brody dimple twinkled at her. “Give it fifteen minutes and then I’ll back you up while you approach the grieving parents.”

  Hallie glanced toward where the Draytons received condolences. Poor Cheryl. She stood like a wilted rose, and James hovered as her protector—or was it her keeper—shaking hands with those who came by.

  A figure came between her and the Draytons. “Hello,” said a woman dressed in a navy blue pinstriped suit that identified her as one of the funeral home workers. Her smile accented sprays of delicate lines around her mouth and eyes that betrayed her middle age, despite the solid blond hair. “You look familiar. Where have I seen you before? Were you a friend of Alicia’s?”

  “I’m the television news reporter who discovered her body.”

  “Oh, my!” The woman’s mouth pursed, then smoothed again into the businesswoman smile. “From the Twin Cities then. How nice of you to come all this way to pay your respects.”

  “I lost a friend some years back to a violent death. This hit me hard and personally.”

  The woman shook her head. “The Draytons may have a tough time going on after the loss. Alicia was their life.”

  “Do you know them well?”

  “Not really, but Cheryl does day care for my granddaughter, Riley. I’ve had occasion to pick Riley up at their house now and then. Cheryl sure did mope both times her daughter left for college. And now this.”

  “Both times?” Hallie stiffened.

  “That’s right. But Alicia didn’t finish her freshman year when she went off right out of high school. Must not have been quite ready for the change. Her parents definitely weren’t. She came home again for over a year and helped with the day care before she tried leaving again.”

  Hallie’s heart rate quickened. “Do you know where Alicia went to college before?”

  “Not specifically.” The woman shrugged. “Just that it was far away. Some place out of state, I think. Maybe the distance was too much for all of them. Excuse me.” She touched Hallie’s arm. “I need to check the refreshment table.”

  “Sure…ah, thanks for visiting with me.” Hallie watched the woman walk away. Such a tiny morsel of information, but at least it provided a new direction for investigation. So Alicia had gone to college somewhere before the University of Minnesota. She must not have tried to transfer any credits from her failed attempt. Had she flunked out? That hardly sounded like the driven and composed straight A student from the U of M.

  Hallie searched the crowd of strangers for Brody’s familiar face. She needed to clue him in to ask people about Alicia’s prior schooling. There he was. She took a step toward him.

  “Ms. Berglund, we thought you might show up today.” Cheryl Drayton’s voice leaked sorrow.

  Hallie turned and came face-to-face with both of Alicia’s parents. James stood behind Cheryl, his nostrils and lips pinched. His gaze was fixed on his wife, but Hallie glimpsed the expression. Unfulfilled longing. She’d seen that look before in the eyes of men who gazed at something they craved—a boat, a car, a new gadget—that was beyond their means to have. James was anything but sure of his hold over his wife, and that made him all the more possessive.

  “Here.” Cheryl held a small box toward her. “You should have this.”

  Hallie accepted the box and lifted the lid. Her mother’s handmade armband gleamed back at her. “How—”

  “They r
eturned all of Alicia’s personal property not considered evidence.”

  Brody stepped up beside her, and the tightness in Hallie’s chest eased.

  “You both agree to give the bracelet to Hallie?” He stared from one Drayton to the other.

  James stepped forward and put his arm around his wife’s shoulder. “We both agree that this needs to be the final contact between us and her—and you, too, if you’re with her.”

  “Brody Jordan, Channel Six sportscaster.” He held out his hand toward Alicia’s father.

  The man ignored it and lifted his gaze toward something behind Hallie and Brody. She looked over her shoulder. A pair of stocky men dressed in suits, legs slightly apart, arms flexed at their sides, flanked her and Brody. Their gazes radiated menace. She’d seen their crew-cut heads in the honorary pallbearer row during the service. Conversations began to go still around the little group as heads swiveled in their direction.

  “Friends from the police department.” James smirked while Cheryl dropped her gaze toward the floor. “They will escort you out of the building and follow you out of town.”

  Tension radiated from Brody’s arm that brushed against Hallie’s. No! He wouldn’t start something here, would he? With his size and athletic training, he probably could hold his own, but—His hand closed around her elbow, and he guided her toward the door.

  Hallie let out a pent-up breath as they stepped out the door into the afternoon sunlight. “Very dark in there.”

  “You said it,” Brody muttered.

  They got into the Impala and headed toward Highway 59. Hugging the box, Hallie looked back toward the unmarked police car on their tail. “I guess we’re leaving town.”

  Brody rippled his shoulders. “Might as well. I think the wagons were starting to circle in there against us. I doubt anyone will say another word. I don’t suppose you had any more luck finding out anything than I did in five minutes flat.”

  “Gotcha there, Jordan.” She told him about Alicia’s prior college attendance.

  “Good job. You might get off the cheer squad and into the anchor chair yet.” He held out a palm for a victor’s slap.

  Fat chance after that crack! She socked him in the shoulder.

  He laughed. “Shall we go over our list of suspects and match them with what we know?”

  “Your list of suspects. I already know who my suspect is.”

  “Humor me.” He sent her a long-suffering look.

  She opened the box Cheryl had given her and took out the bracelet. The cool metal rapidly warmed between her fingers.

  “Your mom did pretty nice work there.” His tone had changed from bantering to gentle. “Can I take a closer look when we stop for supper?”

  “Certainly.” She slipped the bracelet onto her wrist. It was bulky, but fit snugly enough around her wrist that there was little slippage, and yet it wasn’t too tight—as if Yewande Berglund had made it for her adult daughter’s arm, like she’d done the child’s bracelet. Of course, the armband would fit any woman with slender wrists like Cheryl and Alicia’s. Hallie traced the intricate elephant design with her thumb. Should she feel weird about wearing an article that had adorned a dead woman? If so, she didn’t. The bracelet belonged where it was.

  She put her hands in her lap, still fingering the design on the metal. “Stan had a couple of favorites for the job of killer.”

  “I remember Monique Rimes. Was that catty model Jessica the other one?”

  “You got it.”

  “But?” Brody sent her an assessing glance.

  “No motive for Ms. Monique. She had every reason to want Alicia alive. Jessica wouldn’t have minded her rival dead, but she was doing a shoot at the time of the murder.”

  Brody grunted acknowledgment. “Well, here’s my top contender—your stalker. And that worries me where you’re concerned. A lot. No known motive, but that might become apparent when he’s caught. Or maybe he’s just a nut who targets beautiful women.”

  Hallie’s heart did a little ka-bump. Brody thought she was beautiful. “Thank you.”

  “Huh?” He blinked at her.

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Figures! You imply something really nice, and it’s so off the cuff, you didn’t even realize you said it.” Hallie chuckled, shaking her head. “At least I know your words were sincere, since they came out minus any planning.”

  “Sounds like good feminine logic. I’m at least smart enough to go along with that.” He sent her a bemused grin.

  She answered with a mock scowl. “Okay, funny man, what about this stalker makes him your prime suspect?”

  “His penchant for violence, for one thing. Grabbing your purse, keying your car.”

  Hallie frowned. How did she make sense of her confusion about the man? “Okay. The guy gives me the creeps, but maybe he’s just choosing a really scary way to spur us on to keep investigating. The note on your windshield, the phone call when we were looking for the Draytons.”

  Brody’s disgusted look said he considered her ready for the funny farm. “How can keying your car be called helpful?”

  “Everyone’s assuming he did that, but it still doesn’t feel right to me. That was a malicious act—something done by someone with a score to settle or as the random act of an angry person. It’s simply not consistent with the rest of this guy’s actions.”

  “Oh, yeah, like stealing your scarf?”

  “I haven’t figured out what that was all about, but there’s got to be an explanation.”

  “Exactly. He’s crazy, and he might be a killer.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Her thoughts backpedaled to that frightening night in the drug neighborhood. “He’s the rock-thrower!”

  “The what?” Brody stared at her.

  “Eyes on the road, buddy.”

  He huffed and looked ahead.

  “Try this on for size.” She leaned toward him. “He threw the rock that broke the window at Damon’s mother’s house and maybe saved us all from being shot by a drug addict.”

  Brody’s mouth made motions like a beached fish, and little splutters emerged. Finally, he burst out laughing.

  Hallie crossed her arms. Let the man have his fun. She knew what she knew.

  The guffaws ebbed to spurts, and he wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry. Truly.” He waved a feeble hand in her direction. “If you knew that neighborhood, you’d realize that no one needs a reason to throw a rock through a window around there. Anyone could have done it.”

  “Exactly in the nick of time? I don’t believe in so much coincidence.”

  Brody sobered. “You have a point there.”

  “At least you don’t count me a total moron.”

  “Aw, honey, that’s one thing I’ll never think about you.”

  The sincerity in his gaze almost melted Hallie, but she gathered her arms closer against her chest. “Honey? Is that another slip of the tongue like ‘beautiful’ and ‘sunshine’?”

  Pink crept up from the collar of Brody’s sport shirt right to his hairline. “You caught the ‘sunshine’ one, too?”

  The poor man looked ready to sink through the seat. A snort of laughter escaped through Hallie’s nose before she could stop it. He sent her a weak smile, and she gave up and laughed. “If you weren’t so cute, you’d be in a lot more trouble, Jordan.”

  “Cute?”

  “Easy to see you’ve never been in the electronics department of a store when the ladies are gathered around a demo TV set during the evening sportscast, going, ‘Oooh, isn’t he cuuuute?’” She put on a falsetto. “‘I just loooove that dimple.’”

  “You’re kidding.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Aren’t you?”

  Her steady look answered him, and his eyes went wide.

  “You didn’t know?”

  “Why would I want to know something like that?”

  “Another misconception about Brody Jordan busted. You were so stuck up about talking to me at the station, I figured you were mainly stuck on yourself.”
/>   “My avoidance of your candle-flame to this poor moth was pure self-preservation.”

  “I scared you?” Her own eyes grew wide.

  “Still do, but I’m beyond worrying about getting burned.”

  Emotion clogged her throat and halted further words. This man stirred her on levels none other had touched before, but an overload of turmoil—inside and out—clouded her judgment. If she allowed their relationship to move beyond professional, it had to be when she could think clearly. She sneaked a look at his strong profile, and he met her gaze.

  “So quit distracting me already.” His tone was gruff, and he glued his gaze back on the road. “Can we pull over in the next town and get a bite to eat? Then you can drive.”

  With his stomach pleasantly full, Brody settled into the passenger side of his Impala and reclined the seat so he could relax, maybe snooze a bit. He hadn’t been sleeping the best at night, and today had been a tough one. Lack of rest must be why he blabbed to Hallie about his attraction to her. She probably thought he was rushing things, because she hadn’t responded in kind, though she’d been bright and charming through the meal. He glanced over at her, and she smiled at him as she started the car.

  “Next stop, home sweet home.” She guided the car into traffic.

  “What about James and Cheryl?”

  “As what?”

  “Suspects.”

  A light laugh answered him. “They both have alibis and anything but motive,” Hallie said. “As much as I despise James and pity Cheryl, can you honestly see either of them beating and strangling their daughter?”

  “Not Cheryl, for sure. James has the physical strength.”

  “Yes, but he’s cool, calculating. Alicia’s murder has all the earmarks of a crime of passion.”

  Brody hummed. “Passion may lurk beneath that icy exterior. And fear.”

  “You noticed the insecurity, too?”

  “He turned a shade whiter when Cheryl handed you the box. That’s why I asked them if they both agreed to give you the bracelet.”

  “Any passion in James belongs to Cheryl. I’m not sure an adopted daughter qualified for that much attention. He lives in constant dread of losing his wife. That’s why he hangs on so tightly. And something about this bracelet,” she lifted her arm, “stirs up those fears. Cheryl all but told me that Alicia’s birth father gave it to her. I suspect James has always felt second fiddle to that man, which is why we need to find out who he was. But all this is a huge stretch with no support to create a motive for murder.”