Stuck on Murder

by Lucy Lawrence

  Brenna was hard pressed to decide if he was more impressed or intimidated.

  “I can do a pretty good Tricia Morse when I want to,” Tenley admitted in her mother’s voice. Then she grinned and her entire persona changed back to the Tenley everyone knew and loved.

  Matt blinked and Brenna laughed. Tenley seldom used her prominent family status to coerce people, but when she did, it was a sight to behold.

  “You might as well give in,” Matt warned her. “Her mind is made up, and you will need a lookout. Besides, I owe Ms. Sokolov some payback, too. You can’t deny me.”

  Brenna was thoroughly exasperated as she looked at the two of them. “You do realize you could land in a heap of trouble, possibly even jail?”

  They nodded, with much more enthusiasm than she liked.

  “Fine,” she said with a put-upon sigh. “Let’s get planning.”

  Brenna tried to shake off her nerves as she and Tenley approached the town hall, but it was impossible to ignore the sheen of sweat coating her palms, and she wiped them on her pants as they climbed the main steps.

  “Okay, remind me again,” she said. “What are the keywords I’m looking for?”

  “Anything with the name or phone number of the developer Ripley was working with,” Tenley said. “Look for things that sounds corporate or incorporated or limited liability, blah, blah, blah.”

  “Okay, I’ve got it,” Brenna said. “And you’ll be right by the door doing lookout duty.”

  “Yep, me and Eleanor are going to have some fun. Well, I am at any rate,” Tenley said

  They passed through the massive columns that led to the front door, and Brenna realized she had never been so intimidated by a building before. The Morse Point Town Hall had been built by Tenley’s great-great-great-etc. grand-father in 1835 and was a study in the Greek Revival architecture popular at the time. The brick building was a long rectangle that had five steps leading up through four daunting columns to the massive oak double doors.

  Tenley opened one of them for her, and Brenna blew out a breath. She could do this, she told herself, and for a second she almost believed it. Then the large oak door shut behind her and she felt all her self-doubt slide in behind her like a shadow.

  Tenley smiled and waved at the guard who was sitting by the front door. Withered, probably from suffering through too many harsh New England winters, he looked old enough to have remembered the town hall being built. He adjusted his dentures before he greeted them.

  “How do, Miss Tenley?” he asked.

  “Doing fine, Mr. Abner, and yourself?” Tenley stopped to talk, and Brenna could feel her nerves snapping at her insides with little pinchers. She really wanted to get this over and done.

  “My sciatica is acting up,” he said with a grimace. “The pain shoots right down my leg just like that dang bullet I picked up in Germany in ’44.”

  “You need to go see Doc Waters. He’ll fix you up. He took care of Ruby Wolcott’s pinched nerve, and she was as hunched over as a question mark,” Tenley said. “Isn’t that right, Brenna?”

  “Huh?” Brenna asked. She was still learning the fine art of small town chitchat. No one in Boston would tell you to go to the doctor if you complained about an ache or pain. Oh, they’d tell you where to go, but it wouldn’t be to the doctor.

  Tenley gave her a not-so-subtle elbow to the side, and Brenna said, “Oh, yeah, Doc Waters, absolutely.”

  Abner narrowed his watery blue eyes at her. “You’re new here.”

  “Yup,” she said, feeling as welcome as a tick.

  “That’s okay. Any friend of Miss Tenley’s is a friend of mine,” he said. He broke into a sudden toothy smile, and Brenna suspected he shifted his dentures so much because they were too big. Maybe his gums, like the rest of him, were shrinking with age.

  Either way, Brenna felt as if she had just passed the first hurdle to getting to the mayor’s office.

  “Maybe I’ll give Doc a shout,” Abner said, considering. He rolled his dentures again and then asked, “So, to what do I owe a visit from two such lovely ladies on this fine April afternoon?”

  Tenley gave him a warm smile and Brenna mimicked her, but it felt unnatural, as if she were baring her teeth instead of smiling.

  “We’re here to see Eleanor,” Tenley said.

  Abner leaned back from her as if she’d said she was bringing in the plague. “What do you want to do that for?”

  “Brenna is working on a plaque for Mayor Ripley, and she thought Eleanor might like to contribute something from his office,” Tenley said.

  Abner glowered at the stairs to his right, and Brenna guessed there was no love lost between Abner and Ms. Sokolov.

  “It’s for his memorial service,” Brenna said.

  “Well, good luck with that,” Abner grumped. “That old harpie is like a junkyard dog guarding that office. She refused to let the police in and told them they’d need a search warrant from a judge before she’d let them set foot in there. I heard Chief Barker threatened to lock her up if she didn’t let his men in.”

  “So, did she?” Tenley asked.

  “Nope,” Abner said. “Chief Barker was crazy mad. I heard him say he’d be back with a warrant today, but I haven’t seen him as yet.”

  Tenley and Brenna exchanged a wary look. It occurred to Brenna that getting past Eleanor might prove to be more difficult than dodging a pit bull with a grudge.

  “Thanks for the warning, Abner,” Tenley said.

  “Good luck and God bless,” he said. He promptly sat down at his guard’s desk and assumed a pose as if he’d never seen them.

  The mayor’s office sat at the top of the curved staircase that climbed the wall to their right. Thirty steps up and they turned down the hallway. Dressed in his volunteer firefighter’s uniform, Matt was lounging against the wall. Tenley nodded at him as she and Brenna went through another set of double doors to the right.

  The temperature dropped in the large reception room by a noticeable ten degrees. Two utilitarian chairs and a small table, with no magazines on it, filled one corner. Brenna wondered if the uninviting furniture and frigid temperature were chosen specifically to encourage people not to wait.

  The burgundy carpet was squishy under her feet, and Brenna would have enjoyed the luxurious feel of it if the severe-looking woman sitting at the large rosewood receptionist’s desk across the room wasn’t glowering at them like they had just tracked mud on said carpet.

  Brenna had no doubt that this was Eleanor Sokolov. Her half-moon reading glasses perched low on her nose and were anchored by a chain about her neck. Her eyebrows were drawn on with a pencil shades darker than the fat, sausage-sized, champagne-colored curls that rolled about her head. Brenna could picture her sleeping in cold cream and rollers every night, which would probably explain her cranky disposition. She wore a turquoise and cobalt paisley polyester blouse with a large bow at the throat. She was a stout woman, who boasted a prominent bosom that reminded Brenna of the prow of a ship.

  “May I help you?” she asked, sounding as if she had no intention of doing so but good manners forbade her from saying as much.

  “Hi, Ms. Sokolov,” Tenley said. “It’s me, Tenley M—”

  “I know who you are,” Ms. Sokolov interrupted. “It hasn’t been that long since I caught you and your boyfriend in flagrante delicto in your car in the school parking lot. I daresay I’ve seen more of you than anyone should.”

  Tenley turned a vibrant shade of red, and Brenna felt her own eyebrows go up in surprise. Tenley caught fumbling in a car? Had it been with Matt? She could only imagine how Tenley’s parents had reacted to that.

  A glance at Tenley and Brenna noticed her red face had receded into blotchy patches and she was drawing in a deep breath, the kind that would precede a yell. She figured she’d better intervene before it got ugly.

  “Hi,” she said. “I’m Brenna Miller. I’m working on a collage for Cynthia Ripley as a memorial to the mayor, and I was wondering if you had a
nything you wanted to include?”

  With great reluctance, Ms. Sokolov pulled her gaze away from her stare-down with Tenley. She turned to Brenna and looked her up and down, the pursing of her thin crimson lips indicating that she found her wanting. But Brenna persevered. She’d worked the art scene in Boston, dealing with snot-nosed aristocrats with more money than taste. Surely, she could handle this old broad.

  “Is this the mayor’s office?” she asked and strode forward.

  Ms. Sokolov gaped at her as Brenna walked past. Then she leapt out from behind her desk. She was wearing a knee-length navy blue skirt that rode up higher in the back than in the front, due to her more than generous posterior. She splayed her arms across the doorway, blocking Brenna’s entrance.

  “You can’t go in there!” she said.

  “Why not?” Brenna asked. “I need more memorabilia for the collage. It’ll be on display at his service, where hundreds, maybe thousands, of people will see it, and I can’t have it looking shabby, now can I?”

  “But this was Mr. Ripley’s office,” Ms. Sokolov said. “It’s private.”

  “Hey, is that a picture of the two of you?” Brenna asked as she ducked under one of Ms. Sokolov’s beefy arms and strode into the room.

  Hanging on the wall, amid scores of other photos, was a small framed photo of Mayor Ripley and Ms. Sokolov, standing at a ribbon-cutting ceremony for what appeared to be the new little league fields. It was obvious from the worshipful gaze she bestowed upon him in the photo that Ms. Sokolov had more than secretarial feelings for her boss. Ew.

  “That sure would be nice to add to the collage,” Brenna said. “How long were you his secretary?”

  “Six years,” Ms. Sokolov said. She fidgeted with the large bow at her throat.

  “Well, we simply have to add a photo of the two of you then, don’t we? It wouldn’t be right to leave you out of his memorial, now would it?”

  “No, but that’s the only photo I … we … have of …” Ms. Sokolov trailed off, obviously torn between her desire to be in the memorial and not wanting to give up perhaps the only picture of herself and her beloved boss.

  “Tell you what, I’ll take it to the copy store and have them run me a copy, then you can have the original back,” Brenna offered.

  “I suppose that would be all right,” Ms. Sokolov said. “But you must be very careful with it, and now I really must ask you to leave.”

  Just then, on cue, Matt walked into the main office behind them.

  “Excuse me, I’m here to test the fire extinguisher,” he said.

  “What?” Ms. Sokolov whirled around and frowned at Matt then at Tenley and then back at Matt.

  “Ms. Sokolov,” Matt said. “Imagine finding you here.”

  He walked over to the side of the room and pulled a fire extinguisher off the wall.

  “Now just a minute,” Ms. Sokolov protested. “These were tested six months ago. I’m sure of it. I know I have the paperwork in my file.”

  “New mandate,” Matt said. “Testing is every six months now for municipal buildings.”

  “But you’re just a volunteer,” she protested. “Last time it was Fire Chief Levy.”

  “Budget cuts,” Matt said. “It’s tragic, but I’m willing to do my part. Oh, whoa, hey there!”

  In one deft motion, he “accidentally” pulled the plastic tag, hit the lever, and dropped the hose. White foam shot across the room.

  Eleanor shrieked as she was slapped across the chest by a spray of foam, which then doused her desk and a good portion of the far wall.

  Matt appeared to wrestle the extinguisher to the ground. “Sorry about that,” he yelled. “Good thing we tested. It must be a malfunction.”

  Tenley ducked her head to hide her laughter. Brenna grabbed a tissue off the desk and offered it to Ms. Sokolov, who ignored her. Eleanor had her arms raised at her sides, looking speechless, but she recovered quickly.

  “Out! Out!” she yelled at Matt, looking as if she’d pick him up and throw him if he didn’t move fast enough.

  “Oops, uh, my bad,” Matt said. He looked at the mess on the desk and took a second to appreciate Ms. Sokolov in her dither. Then he turned his back to her and winked at Tenley, who grinned back at him, before he disappeared through the door. His work here was done.

  “My desk! My wall!” Ms. Sokolov cried. She swiped at the foam on her chest and hurried to her desk. She grabbed her phone and punched in numbers with shaking fingers. Then she slammed the receiver down.

  “Lazy janitor,” she snapped. “He’s never there when I need him. I’ll just have to clean it myself.”

  She huffed toward the door, and as soon as she rounded the doorframe, Tenley assumed the post of lookout while Brenna hurried back to search the mayor’s office for information.

  She began flipping through the Rolodex, past names of prominent Morse Point residents and the heads of other city departments. Nothing seemed of interest. She moved on to his desk, opening the drawers, looking for something, anything.

  The top drawer was filled with pens and paperclips and a cache of wadded-up receipts. She quickly stuffed those into her pocket to examine later. After all, it wasn’t as if he could get reimbursed for his expenses now.

  “Brenna, hurry up,” Tenley whispered. “She’s in the lobby yelling at Abner. She’ll be back any minute.”

  “Okay, okay,” Brenna said. She pulled on the door to the mayor’s file cabinet. It was locked. Damn.

  She scanned the top of his desk. A small, round wooden box sat at one corner. It was decorated with the wrappers from different cigars. Brenna recognized it as a project Cynthia had done in decoupage class a few months ago. It seemed a likely place to keep a key.

  She opened the lid and bingo. A small key sat nestled inside. Brenna snatched it up, and sure enough, it fit in the lock to the file cabinet. She flipped through the files. Some were by person’s name and some were by city department. Halfway through, she spotted one that said “Morse Point Lake.” Damn. She was running out of time.

  She opened her black backpack purse and stuffed it inside. It really wasn’t stealing if you planned to return it, right? Besides, Brenna had learned it was generally easier in life to get forgiveness than permission.

  “She’s halfway up the stairs,” Tenley hissed.

  Brenna shut and locked the cabinet, returned the key to the box, and dashed back to stand in the doorway, exactly where she’d been when Ms. Sokolov had left.

  Ms. Sokolov puffed her way into the room, carrying a bucket full of cleaning supplies. Beads of sweat coated her upper lip, and one fat curl drooped over her forehead.

  “You’re still here,” she said. She glanced between them. “You didn’t touch anything, did you?”

  “No, ma’am,” Brenna said.

  “I’ll know if you did,” she warned. She dumped a towel onto the floor and began to stomp on it to sop up the frothy mess. “And you can tell that Matt Collins that I’d better never see him in here again.”

  Tenley gave Ms. Sokolov her most withering Morse family glare. “I doubt you’ll have to worry about that anytime soon.”

  “Humph,” Ms. Sokolov dismissed them.

  Together they headed for the door, Brenna feeling weak-kneed with relief that they had managed to pull it off. She could only hope that no one missed the file from the cabinet.

  “Stop right there!” Ms. Sokolov’s voice ordered, yanking them back like two leashed puppies.

  Oh no, busted. A sick feeling of dread pooled in Brenna’s belly, and she spun slowly on her heel. She could feel Tenley do the same beside her.

  “You forgot this,” Ms. Sokolov said. She held out the picture to Brenna.

  “Oh, silly me,” she said. She could feel her heart resume beating in her chest as if someone had kick-started it. “I don’t know where my head is. Thank you. I’ll have it back to you as soon as possible.”

  “I would appreciate that,” Ms. Sokolov said stiffly.

  “Ms. Sokolov,
may I ask you a question?” Brenna asked. She knew this was foolhardy in the extreme and that she should be beating feet down the stairs and out the door, but if she didn’t take this opportunity, she might not get another.

  “Certainly,” she said. Although, with her lips pursed tight as if pulled by a drawstring, she didn’t look as if she meant it.

  “Where were you the night the mayor was murdered?” she asked. She saw Tenley stiffen beside her.

  Ms. Sokolov stared at Brenna with a look so cold it could have put a sheet of ice on Morse Point Lake. She did not answer. She just stared.

  “Well, all right then,” Brenna said, feeling awkward. “Sorry to have troubled you.”

  She and Tenley turned simultaneously and headed for the stairs, moving as quickly as possible without actually breaking into a run—but just barely.

  Chapter 14

  Plain white glue is generally the glue of choice for decou pers, but experiment. There is a world of adhesives out there.

  “Did you notice she didn’t answer the question?” Brenna asked.

  “I’m just surprised we weren’t turned to stone back there. Yikes, she’s scary,” Tenley said.

  They were halfway across the town green when Brenna saw Phyllis Portsmyth heading straight for them. She was wearing a pretty floral dress with pink high heels, looking as fresh as a fistful of spring flowers. She had her hand in the air, waving at them, and the midday sun sparkled off the yellow Portsmyth rock on her finger, making it almost impossible not to see her. Still, Brenna pretended she hadn’t.

  “Crap,” she whispered. She was feeling terribly exposed and really just wanted to be back at the shop. “How are we going to avoid her?”

  “No need to,” Tenley said. “Follow me.”

  She put her chin in the air and strode forward right into Phyllis’s path.

  “Hello, girls,” Phyllis said. “I stopped by the shop but it was all locked up.”

  “It’s such a nice day, we decided to go for a walk,” Tenley said.

  “Interesting business practice,” Phyllis said. The criticism was evident in her voice, but Tenley blithely ignored it.