by Nora LeDuc
Ryan would mutter, “Adopted. I wish.”
Joking with Ryan was rare. He was consumed with himself. A jab of nausea warned her she might need to excuse herself.
“Here’s the photo.” The chief held up the picture of the white husky. “Your brother kept it on the mantle. If you want it for posters—”
She reached for it before he finished. “Thanks.”
He picked up a small manila envelope and spilled a key onto the desk. “For your
brother’s house.”
She stuffed the image of Target and the key in the zipper compartment of her suitcase.
Cool air might make her feel better.
“I’m sure our progress seems slow to you, but we’re conducting a thorough analysis of the facts. When we bring charges, they’ll stick, and remember, everything I’ve told you today is confidential.”
“I understand.” She pushed away from the chair. “When will Ryan’s body be released to the funeral home?”
“I’ll let Smitty know he should pick him up tomorrow.”
At least she could skip the morgue. She’d already identified Ryan’s corpse through a picture Sullivan had emailed her. “I’ll be heading out if we’re finished. I have a reservation at the Barley House B&B, where you can contact me.”
He shrugged. “Not much choice if you want to stay in town.”
She hoped her stay would be short. At least her boss at the Sleep Tight Hotel had promised to hold her job for the month. Then she’d be jobless.
“You got my number,” Sullivan said. “We’ll keep in touch.”
She rose and tugged her bag across the floor. A picture of former chiefs decorated the wall near the door. The date beneath the photo snagged her attention. It was the year her mom had died. She’d been ten and Ryan thirteen. For three years, their mother had fought to survive cancer and had leaned on Ryan and Lucy. Their father had hung with his best friend, the bottle.
Their dad’s apathy had forced Ryan into responsibilities he’d had trouble handling. Lucy closed her eyes against the pain that threatened to overwhelm her.
“Miss Watson?”
She blinked several times and turned to the chief.
“You take a left outside my office.” He grabbed his sandwich from the desk. The paper rustled as he unwrapped it. Bologna’s spicy odor floated to her.
The suspicion wormed into her mind that the chief was, despite his earlier words, more interested in his takeout than in her brother’s death. She’d keep an eye on Chief Sullivan and his progress.
She opened the door. Now she had to attend a funeral where one mourner might have fired a bullet into Ryan’s chest.
Chapter 3
March 17
Three days later, Lucy stood under a gray sky at the Barley Cemetery. Her stomach tightened as she stared at her brother’s casket positioned under the bare tree.
If tears flowing at a funeral measure love for the deceased, Ryan scored zero on the affection barometer. For most of his thirty years, he’d charmed and captivated friends. Then he would become bored and leave them behind. Many had disliked him. At times, he was selfish and grabbed what he could without worrying about the cost. After his childhood, he’d wanted to enjoy what he thought he’d missed.
His time to catch up had run out.
A chill ran over her skin as she glimpsed the bare peaks of the White Mountains in the distance. She straightened to relieve the stress pulling on her shoulders. Let me get through the next half hour without being sick, she prayed as Father Francis, the rotund priest with hair tufts above his ears, spoke over her brother’s wooden box.
A few feet away, Clarissa frowned when Father offered vague words to describe her former husband. Her cold, dry eyes warned she wasn’t remembering the good times.
As usual, she wore her blonde mane in a not-a-strand-out-of-place bob. Her navy dress, sweater, and shoes matched her nail polish. Women who dressed fashionably had always attracted her brother.
Clarissa had been a young woman with a feisty nature until life with Ryan had sapped her vigor. Had she shot Ryan six days ago and left him to bleed to death?
Mr. Carlyle was next to Clarissa. He taught algebra at the high school. He had expressed his sympathy to Lucy before the ceremony. Up close, he appeared too frail to hold a textbook, never mind a gun.
None of Ryan’s students attended the ceremony, but the funeral was private. Maybe the twenty-something strawberry blonde beside the balding Mr. Carlyle was a former pupil of Ryan’s.
Or not. She resembled the endless string of women Ryan had flirted with and dated. Thin, with an innocent, freckled face, she wore a simple but stylish ebony dress with a short jacket. The young woman held a tissue in one hand and a clutch in the other. Her lip trembled as she glanced at the casket. Was she upset because of Ryan’s death or over how he’d treated her before she’d shot him?
A wind blew sticks across the frozen ground near the mourners and the coffin.
“Sometimes love lasts a moment and sometimes love lasts forever,” Father murmured.
The first was her brother. Love ‘em and move on to better.
Father Francis blessed them and finished speaking. The small group gave their attention to her.
She cleared her throat. This was when a relative invited the grievers to her house. But she had no house or apartment.
She gripped her hands together at the waist of her black dress. “Thank you for coming.”
Their gazes remained glued on her, expecting more. Sweat trickled down her neck, although the chill hung in the air.
She groped for something to say. “I appreciate your being here.” That sounded lame. “Have a good—”
The loud screech of tires drowned out her attempt to dismiss the gathering. A speeding silver pickup swerved on the graveyard’s dirt road toward the iron fence and slammed to a stop. Everyone’s attention swiveled to the newcomer.
“I was about to suggest we return to our daily lives and be thankful for them,” she blurted, hoping she didn’t sound like a bad sister since she’d planned nothing more for her brother.
The new arrival left his truck and sauntered to them. The nerves in her stomach protested as Lucy recognized Liam McAllister. He’d come. Once, she’d thought they were meant to be together. She’d been young and naive then.
Everyone was gazing at her as though they expected a showdown. Super. The funeral was bad enough without adding Liam to the mix. Old memories and emotions attacked her. At any moment, the tears would slide down her cheeks.
He slowed his confident gait. At six-three, Liam’s size had made him a star on the high school basketball team and the focus of attention whenever he entered a room. He had a clean-shaven, square jaw and a wide chest his flannel shirt couldn’t hide. He wore faded jeans and scuffed work boots. People often underestimated Liam’s sharp mind because of his casual dress and easygoing nature, which turned fiery when he thought others lied or mistreated him or those he loved.
He stopped when he reached their circle. Running a hand through his overgrown sandy-blond hair, he studied her with hazel-green eyes.
She wet her dry lips, hoping she didn’t give away the anxiety urging her to excuse herself and run. Instead, she inclined her head to him. “Thanks for coming, Liam.”
Her voice came out low. If he heard the comment, he didn’t acknowledge her. He clapped his hands together. “I’m sorry I’m late. Please, don’t let me interrupt the service.”
Father Francis pushed up his dark-framed glasses that matched his black overcoat and frowned. “We are finished, Liam.”
The priest’s clipped words suggested she wasn’t alone in her annoyance.
Liam faced the mourners. “If it’s okay with Lucy, you’re all welcome to gather at the Mad Moose for a bite—” He leveled his gaze on her again.
She nodded.
“The meals are on the house.” Liam swept a glance over the meager group. “I think you know the Moose. It’s located on Main next t
o Father Francis’s church, where you can repent your sins after visiting the bar and grill.”
So like Liam to take center stage. Her thoughts filtered back to past summer days at the quarry. Liam and Ryan had climbed to the top of the highest boulders and dared each other to jump into the water. She’d held her breath when Liam had looked down at her and flashed a wicked grin. He’d raised a fist over his head and, with a whoop, leaped off into the pool below. She hadn’t breathed again until he’d surfaced.
Now she wouldn’t breathe until he drove away from the cemetery.
“If anyone needs a lift,” he said, “my chariot is here.” He whirled around and headed to his truck.
Why had he invited them for a meal? Was lunch his way of making up for skipping the funeral?
Father Francis approached her. “I’m sorry. I must get back to my office.”
“Thank you, Father. Be sure to give my appreciation to the parishioners who donated to the church fund for Ryan’s ceremony.”
“That’s the purpose of the account, my dear. Stop at the rectory if I can be of further service during your stay.”
She nodded as Clarissa waited to take his place. Lucy moved away from the group and gathered her courage to meet her former sister-in-law. Prepare for the worst.
“I was Ryan’s wife. Check the obituary if you’ve forgotten.”
“I’m the one who put your name in the obit, Clarissa.” What was she after? Maybe she wanted to create a scene and make Ryan’s funeral a disaster. Her final revenge would be complete.
“You should have consulted me. Ryan didn’t want a few mumbled words over a coffin stuck under a tree. You did this because you were mad he dumped the old man in a nursing home and I supported his decision. Tit for tat.”
True, Lucy had hoped to hire in-home care for Gramps. She felt Clarissa’s stab. Stay calm. Clarissa wants to make this about her. She would have planned a big funeral if she’d been in charge. Then she’d get to play the part of the grieving ex and get all the attention. “What are you doing here, Clarissa?”
“I heard you’ve been talking to the police. You better not spread gossip to them about me.” She tossed her blonde head at the casket. “And I came to be sure the devil was dead. In the future, don’t come near me. I don’t need any reminders of Ryan Watson.” With a huff, she turned on her heel and walked away.
“Ryan and I never discussed his last wishes,” Lucy called to her. But knowing her brother’s love of the spotlight, she’d agree this service wasn’t his kind of final goodbye. She’d given him what she’d needed: quick and simple.
Was she turning into a vindictive person? She fit the profile. She’d had problems letting go of their squabbles. Guilt threatened to bubble up and explode into sobs. She tightened her lips to force them away.
At the sound of a twig snapping, she glanced up at Mr. Carlyle shuffling toward her. “I must repeat how sorry I am for your loss, Miss Watson. The high school staff and students loved Ryan.”
Was he loved mainly by the women? The retort popped into Lucy’s mind, but she swallowed her reply. “Mr. Carlyle, if you learn anything that sounds plausible about my brother’s death, please, let me know.”
“I doubt I can help. I’m not much into gossip. Besides, I can’t believe anyone at the high school would hurt him, but the police are questioning everyone. Parents have been lining up outside the principal’s office to yell about their children’s rights. Lots of unusual activity has been going on because of his death.”
Ryan would have loved the uproar.
“Take care of yourself, Miss Watson.” He patted her arm and hobbled toward the road.
Next, the strawberry blonde crossed the ground in a faltering gait to meet Lucy. “Miss Watson, I’m Isabella Jackman. Most people call me Bella.”
Lucy accepted the small, warm hand that the young woman offered.
“Ryan’s death was such a tragedy,” she murmured. Her eyes lit with a dreamlike quality. “He was like Romeo in Romeo and Juliet.”
Well, he could be a Romeo. “You were a friend of Ryan’s?” Lucy asked.
“We were going to be married.” A half smile flashed on her face and disappeared. “We picked out a ring, and Ryan was waiting for the right moment to propose.”
“Oh.” Lucy stepped back and broke contact with the girl. No one had mentioned finding a ring at Ryan’s house. More likely, Ryan had strung Isabella along with promises of marriage. He’d done it to others. On the other hand, Maybe Ryan hadn’t even mentioned marriage. The woman’s soft voice and glazed eyes gave her the appearance of being detached from reality.
“We fell in love on the first date.” Isabella leaned closer and whispered, “He said I was nothing like his ex-wife.”
“That’s…sweet.” A jab of sympathy for the young woman struck her. Lucy pointed into the distance to change the subject. “Are you going to the Moose?”
“No, I have to work. I’m at the gift shop next to the church. Stop in while you’re in town.” Isabella turned away and then stopped. “Ryan mentioned you often. He missed you.”
Lucy felt her jaw drop. Had he missed their arguments the most?
Patches of ice crunched under the soles of Isabella’s shoes as she hiked between the graves to the remaining car.
Lucy tossed a last glance at the casket. The police chief’s words occupied her thoughts. Gunshot to the chest. Dying in a pool of his own blood. Dead for a day before the school contacted the police.
A red convertible crept past. The tinted windows prevented her from seeing the occupants. The driver held a phone out the window, up in the air, and snapped a picture of Ryan’s casket. Then the sports car took off with pebbles flying from under the tires. Lucy caught a flash of pink inside as the vehicle flew by her.
Gawker, Lucy thought. She forced herself closer to the coffin. She’d left once without a real goodbye. In her final note, she’d told him she was never returning. If only life had retakes like the movies.
“Bye, Ryan,” she whispered. “You were the last of my family. I loved you. Your problems are over now.” She stretched her hand out, and her fingertips touched the smooth wood.
The funeral home had recommended cremation to save money. Since fire had terrified him, she’d squashed the idea. She turned and picked her way down the icy path.
“Lucy,” Liam called to her. He leaned against the door of his parked truck with his arms folded.
She’d kind of hoped he’d left. She could walk back, but she needed to talk to him. So Lucy did the opposite of what she wanted to do— run from Liam McAllister— and crossed the ground to meet him.
Chapter 4
“Need a ride to the Moose?” Liam pushed away from his pickup and blocked her path.
A familiar shiver of awareness spiked her pulse. When was the last time they’d been this close? Not that it mattered. She searched his face for signs of anger.
Instead, his hazel-green eyes widened with humor. “As I recall, you avoided the outdoors once the temperature hit fifty.”
“I can handle the cold. I’m tougher now.” A twinge of remorse pinched her. Okay, she’d just lied, and at her brother’s funeral. “I’m surprised you showed up today, Liam. You never answered my email.”
“Sorry. I was in shock.” He rubbed his neck.
“I wanted to make sure you heard about Ryan before the police announced it.” She’d expected a response from him that would help lessen the tension of their face-to-face meeting in Barley.
“We had our differences, but your brother was my friend. Come to the Moose. We’ll talk, and it’s my treat. How can you resist?” A touch of humor tinged his voice.
Maybe she could beg a previous commitment. Then again, the Mad Moose Bar and Grill was the town gathering place and center for gossip. If Liam hung there, he’d know more about what happened to Ryan than Chief Sullivan did. “Thanks, I’ll take you up on the lunch offer.”
For an instant, she flashed back to a prior breakfast. Liam had
cooked eggs and bacon, and they’d shared their first kiss.
“Did you forget something?” he asked.
No way would she confess the truth to him. “I thought I smelled cooking. Guess I’m hungry.”
The hum of a car approaching tore her attention from him.
“Someone is later for the service than I was.” He gestured to the road.
She edged onto a patch of grass as the black SUV glided to a halt.
Chief Sullivan stepped out of the driver’s side. He wore his Barley uniform, badge, and hat, but no overcoat. He must have developed thick blood. As he approached, she noted he was as tall as Liam.
“Morning, Miss Watson. Is the funeral over?” His brown eyes shifted to Liam, and his features hardened.
“Yes. Liam invited everyone to the Moose for a bite. Can you join us?”
“I’m working, Miss Watson. I’d like to speak to you for a moment in private.” He inclined his head to a spot nearby.
“Of course, Liam, if you don’t want to wait—”
“No problem. I’m not in a hurry.” He folded his arms and lounged against his truck as though he had all day.
She walked beside the chief for a few feet before they stopped and faced each other. “Did you find something out?” Why else would he be looking for her?
“The blood results arrived.”
“Oh, blood.” Fuzziness took over her brain. She concentrated on the chief’s face.
“No surprises, I’m afraid. The blood present at the scene belonged to your brother and only him.”
“Thanks for letting me know.”
“I had another reason for stopping. As I drove past, I saw you with McAllister. I’m here to warn you. I questioned the witness to Ryan and Liam’s fight again. He’s decided he doesn’t mind if I give you his name. It was Johnny Gage. I’m sure you’ll agree he’s an honest man.”
“Gage reconfirmed the argument?”
“He did. Gage overheard your brother and McAllister quarreling about money. McAllister stormed off the lot. At one point, Gage expected a slugfest, and I’ll remind you, it occurred on the day your brother was shot.”
