by Lisa Bork
Since the auction was at ten, only a half hour away, Cory reluctantly offered to take Danny around the track while I checked in with the auctioneers.
I reminded Danny to stay close to Cory. I watched them walk away.
As they reached the grandstand, Danny stepped on Cory’s heel. Cory didn’t seem to notice. Maybe we all should have just gone home.
I shook off my doubts and headed in the other direction toward where things were humming at the auction tent. After the rain last night, sellers were busy polishing their vehicles while the bidders registered.
Martin Feeder, the auctioneer, spotted me and waved.
I shook his hand. “Can you get me $18,000 for my MG?”
“I’ll sure try. What’s your reserve?”
“$13,000.” I wouldn’t make a profit if the car sold for anything less than that.
“Are you going to hang around for the auction?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” This sale could make or break my month.
The auction area consisted of a large white tent with a podium and a strip of green carpet over the grass to form a runway for the cars to roll down. Dozens of people roamed the auction area including a few photographers, who were always prevalent at race events. The majority of photographers took pictures on spec, emailing the car owners pictures of their cars on and off the track after the event in hopes they might want to purchase some of the more spectacular shots to commemorate the race.
I spotted the white-haired photographer who had snapped the shot of Brennan’s arm yesterday, the damning photo that got him arrested. The photographer caught me staring at him. Recognition crossed his face.
“You’re Jolene Asdale.”
“Yes.”
“Howard Pint.”
“Nice to meet you.” I shook his cool, fleshy hand.
“I’m sorry about your friend.”
I assumed he was referring to Brennan. “Thanks. He’s in trouble, especially after the deputy sheriffs saw your photograph. Would you mind telling me exactly what you witnessed yesterday?”
Howard capped his camera, let it drop on his chest, and ran his fingers over the stubble on his chin. “Honestly, like you, I didn’t really see anything. I was shooting the cars as they made the turn onto Franklin and came toward me, front end shots more than anything. When I heard the brakes squealing, I swung around and took a shot. The picture only caught that instant. I don’t know if your friend was withdrawing his arm after pushing the guy or if he really was reaching out to save him, although that woman was adamant. The crowd was thick there, and they surged toward the road every time a car came around the bend. Gleason just could have been bumped off the sidewalk and fallen.”
“The sheriff’s department apparently doesn’t think so.”
“Well, the news reports have been feeding the flames, haven’t they?”
“I’m afraid so. Did you take any other pictures that might be helpful?
Howard shrugged. “The sheriff’s department took my memory card. The only other photos on the card were close-ups of cars. They asked about crowd shots, but I don’t sell crowd shots. I sell car pictures.”
I thanked Howard for the information then stepped closer to the podium to listen to the auctioneer start the bidding on a beautiful Lotus Super Seven. Normally, I’d be making notes on the level of interest in all the different types of cars and the final sale values for future reference in making my own purchase decisions as to which pre-owned but pristine cars I wanted to offer for sale through my dealership. But today, all I could think of was James Gleason and Brennan Rowe … and the news about them I had yet to share with Cory.
Yesterday James Gleason’s life had ended in a split second. Either he’d been accidently bumped off the sidewalk or someone had pushed him. Hard to believe the crime could have been premeditated. How would anyone know he’d be on that corner in just the right position and at just the right time to shove him off the curb? I didn’t see how Brennan could have known it, nor had Brennan ever struck me as one to act on impulse. Of course, I didn’t know what the two of them had been arguing so hot and heavy about either. Maybe Brennan had been angrier than he appeared. Only the two of them would know—and maybe the woman in the hot pink raincoat. Perhaps she could provide answers. Maybe she’d seen something.
Then again, maybe she’d taken off in the other direction and, like me, witnessed absolutely nothing.
The one thing I did know was Brennan had been walking away from Gleason, not toward him, the last time I saw. I just didn’t know if Gleason had chased after Brennan, enraging him or threatening him to the point where he’d decided to give Gleason a little shove. Could Brennan have killed Gleason by accident? Again, I liked to believe not, but I supposed Cory might be able to shed some light on whether Brennan had any sort of temper or not. He and I would have a long talk later at home.
The auctioneer’s assistants rolled my MG in front of the podium. I started to edge closer, not wanting to miss a moment of the bidding.
My cell phone rang.
Annoyed at the interruption, I snapped it open, my thoughts and eyes on the auctioneer.
“I saw the news. What’s going on with Brennan?”
It took me a second to recognize the voice of my close friend and college roommate, Isabelle Branch. Isabelle lived in the city an hour from Wachobe, where her husband, Jack, ran a jewelry store and she operated an advertising agency. She had created my sports car boutique’s advertising campaign and even done some ads for Brennan recently. Her daughter, Cassidy, was my godchild.
“Nothing good.” I sidled to the edge of the crowd and covered my other ear so I could hear her better. “What have you seen on TV?”
She recounted the contents of both broadcasts I had viewed. “They’re saying a third person was injured in the accident that killed Monica Gleason.”
“Really? Who?”
“Some woman who didn’t want to be identified at the time.”
“Interesting. I wonder if the press will out her now.”
“No doubt if they can, they will. How’s Cory holding up?”
“Not well. Brennan didn’t want to see him or have him involved in any way. He wouldn’t even let Cory get an attorney for him.”
“Oh, he’s got an attorney. I thought you guys called her.”
“Who?”
“Catherine Thomas.”
A sick feeling welled in my stomach. The beautiful Catherine Thomas was a highly respected defense attorney in New York State. She was also the woman Ray took up with during the last year of our three-year separation, attracted to her as he was to me because of our resemblance to his favorite actress, Valerie Bertinelli. She even had Valerie’s same long hairstyle, while I had bobbed mine years ago. Although Catherine had been extremely helpful and supportive to us in the past, the thought of having her around again made me queasy. No one likes to be confronted with a woman her husband once slept with, especially a woman like Catherine, who I had to admit had it all goin’ on, unlike me, who more often had it all goin’ south.
“Wonderful.”
“Sorry, thought you knew.”
“I didn’t.” But now that I did, it was one more thing to worry about that was completely out of my control.
“Well, join the club. You’re not the only one in the dark.”
Martin Feeder chose that moment to slam his auction mallet down on the block. I jumped three inches in the air then frantically listened for the MG’s final sale price. Naturally, he didn’t repeat it. I’d have to wait until I hung up to find out. Besides, Isabelle’s words had sounded bitter, quite unlike her usual personality. My antennae went up.
“What do you mean? Who else is in the dark?”
Silence.
I pulled the phone from my ear and checked the screen to make sure we were still connected.
“Isabelle? Is everything all right? How are Jack and Cassidy?”
At the other end of the line, I heard Isabelle burst into tears.
FIVE
I HAD TO ASK Isabelle to repeat herself three times before I clearly heard the words in between her sobs, “Jack is … having … an affair.”
Was it something in the water? An epidemic?
My response was automatic and emphatic. “He is not.”
Jack worshiped Isabelle. He bought her the finest jewels and the fanciest trips … and oh my god, had he just been making amends with gifts all these years? I reassured myself and her. “He loves you.”
“Ray loves you, too, but he spent a whole year with Catherine.”
Ouch. “We were separated for two years before he met her. The divorce papers were signed.” Signed but never filed. Still, technically Ray was not a cheater. “Have you and Jack separated?”
“Not yet, but I’m thinking about it.”
I moved farther away from the auctioneer as he geared up to sell the next car, not wanting to miss a word of what Isabelle had to say. “Why? What happened?”
“You remember my cousin, the one who thought her husband was having an affair. Remember, she figured out the password to his business AOL account and found out his only business was monkey business?”
“Yes.”
“Well, Jack has a new AOL business account, and he didn’t share the password with me. And he’s acting all secretive, hanging the phone up when I come in the room. Plus we haven’t had sex in two months.”
“Is that all?”
“Isn’t that enough?” She sounded outraged.
Not really. The whole world had gone nuts. At least, all the people significant to my universe were losing it. Me, well, I’d never been sure I had it in the first place.
“Two months is not that long, Isabelle. It’s not unheard of, you know.” I didn’t care to elaborate, but I knew this for a fact.
“We used to do it every night.”
“EVERY night?” I tried to imagine that level of … well … enthusiasm. Jack and Isabelle had been married almost ten years. They each owned a thriving business. They had an active five-year-old. Good grief, they had that kind of energy? I felt like a slacker.
“Yes.”
“Well, even an Energizer battery needs recharging eventually.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry, Isabelle. I simply can’t picture Jack with anyone but you. Have you asked him about all this?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he wasn’t having an affair. That he would never love anyone but me. That he was too tired, too busy at work. That things will get back to normal soon. You know, all the lies a cheater would say.”
I rolled my eyes, thankful she couldn’t see me. “Isabelle, I know your cousin believed her husband’s lies for a long time and felt like a fool afterwards, but I think Jack’s telling the truth. I don’t know anyone more in love with his wife than him.”
“Then you ask him.”
“What?”
“You ask him why he’s hiding things from me. You ask him why he doesn’t want me anymore.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not? You’re my best friend. You’re his friend, too. You could ask him.”
“I don’t think so.” I could, but I really didn’t want to get involved. It was between the two of them. Isabelle and Jack were reasonable adults. They would sort it out on their own in no time, without any interference from anyone else.
“Then I guess I’ll hire a private investigator.”
Or not.
_____
Cory and Danny reappeared outside the auction tent seconds after I hung up with Isabelle. Cory’s fists were clenched, his lips flat lined. “Why didn’t you tell me, Jo?”
“About what?” Danny averted his eyes as I spoke.
“About the news report. About the woman Brennan killed.”
I caught Danny peeking at me out of the corner of his eye. Apparently, he’d been paying attention to the news report on television last night in the restaurant, too. Why he’d chosen to repeat the story now at the track, I’d never know.
“Cory, I was waiting until we were alone to discuss the whole situation.” I raised my eyebrows and tipped my head toward Danny, who had turned away.
“Danny knows everything. He saw everything.”
“What do you mean, everything?”
Danny glanced at me over his shoulder. “I saw the guy lying in the street.”
“You were supposed to stay put.”
“I did. He was right in front of me.”
So much for protecting our boy from ugliness and evil. I wondered what else Danny had seen but didn’t think now was the time to ask. Instead, I tried to calm Cory.
“The news said Brennan wasn’t charged with killing anyone. It was ruled an accident.”
“But a woman died in the car crash. And he was driving the car.”
“The report did say that. But that’s all.”
“They said he was drunk.”
“Two guys probably looking for their fifteen minutes of fame said ‘everyone’ at the reunion was drinking. No one said they specifically saw Brennan drinking or drunk.”
“So why was it on the news?”
Good question. Why was half the stuff on the news? Or on magazine covers? Worse, why did anyone believe any of it anymore? Had we all forgotten poor Richard Jewell, wrongly accused of the Olympic Park bombing and the poster child for law enforcement and media excess? Funny how we can remember a rumor forever while the facts fade fast.
“I don’t know. But I don’t think Brennan intentionally killed anyone, yesterday or thirteen years ago. Do you?”
Now Cory wouldn’t meet my gaze. “Let’s go home.”
I let it go for now, wondering if Cory didn’t share my conviction of Brennan’s innocence. Did he know something more he wasn’t sharing?
We stopped for a second at the auctioneer’s table and learned the MG had gone for $17,500. I’d take it. They assured me the check would be in the mail as soon as the buyer’s payment cleared.
The first hour of the ride home dragged. Cory didn’t respond to my weak attempts at conversation, nor would he allow me to turn on the radio or even play a CD. Danny sat in the back seat of the truck with his iPod blasting. I watched the scenery go by, wondering what, if anything, I should have or could have done differently. Then all the silence made me feel drowsy. I closed my eyes against the sun.
An hour later, I snapped awake. Cory had pulled up alongside the patch of lawn fronting our yellow-sided, two-bedroom bungalow in Wachobe village. I let Danny run ahead with the key to the front door, not that he needed one. Lock picking was a skill his father had passed onto him, along with driving, hotwiring cars, and jimmying locks. A man had to have some skills, according to Danny’s father. Seeing a dead man lying in the street and being able to sleep soundly the night afterward could now be added to Danny’s skills. Maybe he had more in common with Ray than dark hair. I wondered what else Danny might be capable of.
I, on the other hand, couldn’t even let Cory drive away mad. “Can we talk about Brennan now?”
He nodded, his gaze focused on the windshield.
“What do you want to do? How can I help you … and Brennan?”
“He doesn’t want our help. He wouldn’t even see me.” A tear sparkled in the corner of Cory’s eye. He swiped at it angrily. “Why doesn’t he want to see me? Why doesn’t he want my help?”
“Maybe he’s trying to protect you. And Ray said the department wouldn’t let anyone see him until they finished questioning him anyway.”
“I could have gotten him a lawyer.”
“He’s got a lawyer. Catherine Thomas.”
His shoulders relaxed, showing his relief. “That’s good. She’s the best, right?”
“Right.” The best lawyer, anyway. I didn’t want to know if she was the best at anything else.
“What about the woman with James Gleason? Do they know who she was? Did she see anything?”
“The depa
rtment is working to identify her. I’m sure she’ll come forward soon.”
Cory twisted to face me. “I have to know what’s going on, Jo. I can’t just sit here and wait. I can’t let Brennan go through this alone. You’re right. He needs help. He needs me.”
I realized the error in my words too late. “He asked you to stay out of it.”
“I don’t care. I can’t stay out of it. I love him.”
“I know.” I’d seen them together often enough to know this was true, but I didn’t know what the right thing was for Cory to do. He seemed pretty convinced Brennan needed his help. I could certainly give him the time off in the event Brennan asked for him. I really didn’t know what more I could do.
Cory did. “Jo, are you going to help me find out what’s going on or not?”
SIX
AROUND SEVEN O’CLOCK THAT night, I sat out on our front porch, rocking in my white wicker rocker and enjoying the cooler evening air. Shouts and laughter from the neighbor’s heated pool drifted over. Occasionally I could make out Danny’s voice in the mix. Soon enough the temperatures would plummet, the leaves fall, and snow arrive. I wanted to breathe in as much fresh outdoor air as I could before that.
But mostly I was lying in wait for Ray.
He hadn’t answered his phone all day, and I felt near frantic with the need to talk to him. I was in over my head with both Cory and Isabelle and not afraid to admit it. Hopefully Ray would be able to help. He tended to be the voice of reason, and, much as I hated to admit it, most often right.
I recognized the sound of his car engine before his vehicle even came into sight. Ray parked and strolled up our flagstone sidewalk. “Hey, darlin.’”
He brushed his lips over mine and dropped onto his matching rocker, which creaked in protest. “I’m sorry I couldn’t talk today.”
