To Love and to Perish

by Lisa Bork

  Matthew’s eyes narrowed. “We were told only one woman came forward as a witness. Was that you?”

  I shook my head. “We were more bystanders than witnesses.” I held out my hand. “I’m Jolene Asdale. And this is Cory Kempe.”

  Matthew shifted the cookie tin to his left hand so that he could shake hands with us, his brow wrinkled, his gaze questioning.

  I tried to think of something to put him at ease. “Forgive me for asking, but aren’t you Wayne Engle’s godson?”

  Matthew blinked in surprise, his brow smoothing. “Yeah, I am. Do you know Wayne?”

  “We visited him earlier this week. Your photograph is on his office credenza.”

  “Yeah. That’s my freshman yearbook picture. I graduated last year. I’m looking for a job.” He looked between Cory and me again. “So you’re friends of Wayne?”

  Cory smiled. “He’s a great guy.”

  Fortunately, Matthew didn’t seem to notice his question went unanswered. “Yeah.” He looked at the tin of cookies. “Listen, my mom’s not home, but I know she’ll want to thank you for the cookies. Would you mind writing down your name and number for me?”

  “Not at all.” We stepped into the foyer at his invitation.

  Matthew disappeared down the hall. “I’ll be right back. We have a pad in the kitchen.”

  The foyer looked into the living room area, which was decorated in shades of gray, black, and red. Very contemporary and not my style. A chrome frame held a photo of Matthew and his mother. She had dark hair and funky fashion glasses, an average looking woman. Another photo held a picture of Matthew and his dad with his unmistakable red hair. No family shots, but then the couple had been separated.

  Matthew returned with the pen and paper.

  I wrote down my name and cell number and handed it back to him. “Will your mother be home soon?”

  “She has to work late to catch up. She took a few days off this week to arrange for the funeral and stuff.”

  “I’m sorry we missed her. Please give her our condolences.”

  “I will.”

  I stepped back outside to join Cory. Matthew followed us to the edge of the drive.

  Cory pointed at the Gran Torino in the garage. “Great car. I used to have one.”

  Matthew’s eyes lit up. “Really? I love this car. It’s got power.”

  “Mind if we take a look?” Cory headed for the garage without waiting for a response. Matthew didn’t seem to mind, tagging right along behind him. I brought up the rear.

  Cory admired the car and asked questions. Matthew opened the hood. Cory stuck his head under it.

  Matthew smiled at me, happy to show off his wheels.

  I returned his smile. “I own an import auto dealership in Wachobe. Cory is my mechanic. We’re big car people. Is your whole family into cars?”

  The light in Matthew’s eyes faded. “Just me really. My dad’s sister was killed in a car crash. He didn’t even want to go to the festival. I talked him into meeting us there.”

  “You and your mom?”

  “Yeah, and my girlfriend. We were all going to have dinner and see the fireworks in the Glen after the race. But then my dad ran into Brennan, and they fought. My mom took off to find me. We decided to head home. We didn’t know about my dad until the sheriff notified us.”

  I noticed he referred to Brennan by his first name, as though he knew him. “Were you and your dad close?”

  Matthew shrugged. “I’m closer to my mom. She and my dad fought a lot. We fought a lot, too. He liked to tell everyone what to do. We moved out when I started high school. It made things easier.”

  It didn’t sound like they were going to miss him much. “Do you know Brennan?”

  Matthew hesitated. “I met him once. He seemed like a nice guy.”

  His words caught me off guard. What boy thinks the man accused of killing his father was a “nice guy”? I glanced at Cory, who was studying Matthew again like a sports car he couldn’t decide whether to buy. “Brennan’s accused of killing your dad.”

  “Yeah, I know. Believe me, Dad and I got into it a few times. I could understand if Brennan got pissed and gave him a shove, but I don’t think he killed him on purpose.”

  Matthew backed away toward his front door. “Truthfully, my dad had a way of pushing people’s buttons. I loved him, but he’s not going to be missed.”

  _____

  On the drive over to Elizabeth Potter’s townhouse, I considered Matthew’s words. How sad that James Gleason would not be missed. Had he always been an unpleasant fellow or had his sister’s death taken a toll on him? I know my mother’s death changed our family forever in some very obvious and many other subtle ways, including the loss of Erica’s and my carefree childhood. Had James become angry and demanding after his sister’s death? What a price to pay to lose his son’s love and respect.

  Cory interrupted my thoughts. “What do you make of Wayne Engle being Matthew’s godfather?

  “I don’t know what to make of it. I wish you still had Brennan’s yearbook. Maybe Suzanne Gleason was another one of the four Musketeers’ friends that we overlooked. Do you remember any Suzannes in the book?”

  “I’m sure there were some. I don’t remember any specifically.”

  “Or maybe she’s Wayne’s sister.”

  Cory slowed for the stoplight. “Didn’t you see the picture of his mom in the living room? She doesn’t look anything like Wayne Engle.”

  “I saw it, but you know Erica doesn’t look anything like me, either. Siblings can take after one or the other parent or be a mix of both. Or look like Aunt Fanny or Grandpa Mortimer. She looked familiar. She could be his sister.”

  The light changed to green and Cory hit the gas. “Well, I thought Matthew resembled someone we’ve seen, but I can’t remember who. Everyone’s starting to blend together.”

  I had to agree. Too many faces and too few answers. Maybe our next stop, Elizabeth Potter, would finally bring some closure.

  Unfortunately, her townhouse appeared as uninhabited as the last time we visited. Cory accompanied me up the sparkling white gravel path and surveyed the lawn while I rang the doorbell. No one responded.

  Cory checked his watch. “It’s five thirty. Should we wait a half hour or so?”

  “We could, but I’m hungry. We could go eat and then come back around again. Problem is, if she comes home to change and head out for the night, we’ll miss her.”

  “There was a convenience store two blocks back. I could walk down and get subs while you wait here in the car.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  I climbed into the BMW and watched as Cory sauntered away, hands in his pockets, head bowed. Normally, his head would be held high, giving him the illusion of height even though he stood at five-three. This whole situation with Brennan had diminished him, both literally and figuratively. If Brennan knew how much Cory cared, would he be more forthcoming with the truth?

  A tap on the window sent me jumping into the air. I whipped my head around. It was Elizabeth Potter’s neighbor, wearing another stylish housedress, this time in orange.

  I smiled and got out. “Hello again.”

  The tremble in the woman’s right arm never ceased. Her lower lip moved up and down ever so slightly today as well. She pointed toward Elizabeth’s door.

  “If you’re here for her, she got home at six last night.”

  Ah, the neighborhood watch. The elderly people in our neighborhood probably clocked Ray and my comings and goings, too. “Good, then I’ll wait.”

  She pointed in the direction Cory had walked. “That man with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he coming back?”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded. “Suit yourself.”

  A Honda Accord approached and pulled into Elizabeth Potter’s driveway. The car door opened. A woman in a tight black pencil skirt, thick black tights, low-heeled black patent leather pumps, and a sexy red silk blouse slid out. She had
one of those short, funky asymmetrical hairstyles, brown with blond highlights.

  She waved in our direction. “Hi, Evie.”

  Evie didn’t wave back. She scrunched her forehead instead.

  I gestured toward our new arrival. “Would that be Elizabeth?”

  Evie didn’t respond. Her gaze never left the woman, who now approached us.

  She limped ever so slightly. “How are you today, Evie?”

  No response.

  I started to wonder if Evie had Alzheimer’s.

  “What did you do to your hair?” Evie pointed at the woman, her finger shaking.

  The woman fluffed her hair. “It’s new. Do you like it?”

  “No.” Evie started up the sidewalk. “This woman’s been waiting for you.”

  Elizabeth Potter flushed, then laughed. “She’s an honest old bird, isn’t she?”

  I smiled. “I like your haircut, if that makes you feel better.”

  “Thank you, it does.”

  “You must be Elizabeth Potter.” I held out her hand. “I’m Jolene Parker.”

  She took a step back. Her countenance changed to suspicious. “What can I do for you?”

  I wished Cory would reappear, but he wasn’t anywhere in sight. For a woman who made her living talking to people, I wasn’t very good at ad-libbing. My sales presentations were well practiced, full of facts and information. Cory was the spontaneous one, used to filling in the gaps when someone else forgot their lines on stage. He and I should have discussed how we planned to approach this woman, who was scarred from the crash and not likely to welcome us.

  I opted for honesty. “I’m friends with Brennan Rowe. I was hoping to ask you a few questions about him.”

  “Why?”

  “Brennan has been arrested on suspicion of pushing James Gleason in front of a car, killing him.”

  “So I hear.” Her tone sounded like she didn’t care—about either of them.

  I pressed on. “The news reports have brought up the relationship between James and his sister and the car crash that killed her. I understand you were also involved in that crash.”

  “I don’t talk to reporters.” She turned and started to walk away.

  I chased after her, rounding her and cutting off her path. “I’m not a reporter. I’m a personal friend of Brennan’s. I understand the two of you were once very close, too. You, Brennan, Monica, and Wayne Engle. The Four Musketeers, I believe.”

  Her face softened at that. “Monica was my best friend. She dated Brennan. Wayne was Brennan’s best friend. We all hung out together.”

  “And you went to your five-year class reunion together?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wayne Engle said he fought with Brennan that night. Do you know what the fight was about?”

  She tried to get around me. I stepped back to give her some room while remaining directly in her path. I didn’t want to be accused of menacing her.

  She gave up and locked eyes with me. “Look, I don’t know what you want. I can’t tell you what they fought about. I don’t want to talk about that night. I was in the car accident. I almost died. You have no right to come here, no right at all. Go away.” She lifted her arms as if to shove me. “Go away.”

  I moved out of her path.

  She walked quickly, her limp amplified.

  I felt like crap. I called after her, “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. It’s just hard to believe Brennan would kill anyone.”

  She spun around. “He killed Monica. He almost killed me. Is that so hard to believe?”

  “I know that’s true. Was he driving drunk?”

  “No.”

  “Then how did the crash happen?”

  “I don’t know. I was asleep. Ask Brennan. Just leave, and don’t come back.”

  She walked to her front door, unlocked it and slammed it closed behind her.

  “You’re really working the charm, Jo.”

  I turned to find Cory behind me, holding a plastic sack. “Now you come back. Where were you when I needed you?”

  He lifted the sack in the air. “Hey, you wanted food.”

  Well, now all I wanted was to go home.

  FIFTEEN

  SATURDAY MORNING WAS A slow day at work, especially since we hadn’t been in the shop for the last two days to answer calls and set up any appointments. Cory and I sat in the Austin Healey around ten thirty, pretending to drive the hills of Monaco with the sun—the overhead showroom pin light—on our faces. We did that sometimes. It felt peaceful, a little mini mind vacation. Of course I had the cordless in my lap and spent part my vacation time willing a customer to call in need of a pre-owned but pristine Austin Healey.

  And part of the time I processed our trip to Albany.

  Elizabeth Potter hadn’t said she didn’t know what Brennan and Wayne Engle fought about. She said she couldn’t tell. Why not? We thought they’d argued about Brennan’s homosexuality, which wasn’t a secret now, by any means. She could have told me that. So Cory’s theory had to be incorrect. We’d agreed on that during our drive back to Wachobe last night. We just hadn’t agreed on a new theory regarding the argument.

  She had also said to ask Brennan about the crash. But Brennan supposedly had no memory of that night. Was he lying to protect himself? If so, what would get him to tell the truth now?

  Cory and I also hadn’t agreed on approaching Brennan to ask him. Cory feared it would lead to him having to admit he’d gone through Brennan’s stuff, a sure-fire way to not only make Brennan clam up more but also to terminate their relationship forever. I thought it might be time to confess we’d at least asked a few questions in Albany, based on the disturbing news reports, in the hopes Brennan would be more forthcoming with information once he realized how much Cory cared.

  Cory didn’t want to bank on that. This whole situation had shaken his confidence.

  Hence, our little mini mind vacation.

  I focused on relaxing. Breathe in, breathe out. Visualize. Was that the royal family waving to us?

  Sirens interrupted our peaceful drive through the hills.

  We watched as Ray’s patrol car flew past the showroom window. The volunteer ambulance roared past a few minutes later, followed closely by county rescue.

  It was the standard response team for a boating incident. A little unusual for this late in the year though. I wondered who was out on the lake.

  Cory glanced at me. “Didn’t you say your sister was going canoeing this morning?”

  “They would hug the shoreline. I’m sure she’s fine.” Almost sure. I considered calling her cell phone. If she was fine and my call intruded on Maury’s serenade, would she be happy or mad? Worse, would the canoe tip over as she fumbled for her cell? I convinced myself the brouhaha had nothing to do with her.

  I settled back in my seat and tried to recapture Monaco.

  Ten minutes later, Cory hit my shoulder and pointed as the medical examiner’s vehicle f lew past our window.

  “You don’t think—” I picked the cordless up off my lap.

  It rang as if on cue. Cory and I exchanged fearful glances.

  “Darlin’, I need you to get over here and throw a net over your sister.”

  Relief washed through my veins. Erica must be safe, safe enough to be causing trouble. I covered the mouthpiece and asked at Cory. “Do I look like a butterfly keeper to you?”

  Cory’s eyebrows flew up. He wisely chose to shake his head.

  “Thank you.” I uncovered the mouthpiece. “Why, Ray, what’s going on? Are Erica and Maury okay?”

  “They’re fine.” Ray’s emphasis on the word “they’re” made me nervous. Who else could be involved?

  “I’ll let your sister explain. Hold on.”

  Before the cell phone exchanged hands, I heard Erica in the background, talking about hippopotamuses.

  “You and your great ideas. Go canoeing. You’ll be fine. I’m not fine, Jolene.”

  I didn’t bother to point out canoeing wasn’t my idea. I did
get a mental picture of her bedraggled and soaked to the skin, wrapped in a Red Cross blanket. “You fell in, didn’t you?”

  “Only after I spotted the body and dropped my paddle. I couldn’t reach it. It’s not my fault I have short arms. Mom said she had short arms, too. It’s not my fault the canoe tipped over when I lunged for my paddle. I told you canoes are tippy, but you wouldn’t listen. I told you I didn’t want to go canoeing. I told Maury I didn’t want to go. No one ever listens to me, except Mom.”

  Only my sister would gloss over a body. “I’m definitely listening now, Erica. What body are you talking about?”

  “The dead guy floating facedown in the lake. Actually, he was rolling with the waves on the shoreline, with a big gash in his forehead. Now he’s on shore, like a beached whale. Poor guy, I think it’s going to be a closed casket funeral.”

  I cringed. “Who is he?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never seen him before. He looks like a politician. Blue suit, white shirt, maroon striped tie. He’s wearing black shoes, wingtips.”

  That oh-so-familiar sick feeling washed through me. “Where did you find him?”

  “He was lodged under a low-lying branch a few yards north of Brennan’s place. We were paddling down to say hello to Brennan. You know, to cheer him up.” Her voice lowered. “Actually, I was hoping he’d invite us out on his speedboat. This paddling stuff is for the birds.

  “Hey, here comes Brennan now.”

  “Ah, Erica, could you keep Brennan away from the body?” I didn’t want him to remember his old friend after being pulled from the water.

  “The sheriff’s deputies won’t let anyone over there. Brennan’s right here. You want to talk to him?”

  “Not right now. Where’s Ray?”

  “He’s coming this way, too. He doesn’t look happy …

  “Hey, what’s he doing? Oh my god, he’s pulling out his handcuffs …

  “He’s putting them on Brennan. He’s reading him his rights …

  “Suspected murder? Brennan?