Drown Her Sorrows (Bree Taggert)

by Melinda Leigh

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Bree watched the screen in the monitoring room. On the display, Holly Thorpe sat in the interview room, handcuffed to a ring mounted in the center of the table. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen.

  “It’ll be interesting to see how she reacts to you.” Matt stood next to Bree, still wearing the scrubs he’d been given at the hospital.

  “It will be.”

  “You want me to watch from here?” he asked.

  “Yes. I want her to talk, and I think she might be more comfortable one-on-one.”

  “I’m surprised she hasn’t asked for a lawyer.”

  “Me too.” Bree left the monitoring room and went into the interview room.

  Holly looked up, her sad eyes flaring with rage. “You killed Owen.”

  Bree didn’t answer. She sat across from Holly and went through the Miranda routine. Holly signed without commenting. She seemed flat, emotionless.

  Bree folded her hands on the table. “When did you decide to kill Shannon?”

  Holly sniffed.

  Bree shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. We don’t need a confession. We have you cold on kidnapping, assault, and attempted murder, among other things. You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to spend the rest of your life in prison. We have plenty of time to investigate Shannon’s murder.”

  Holly glared.

  “I have to admit,” Bree said. “I’m impressed. You almost had us. If it hadn’t been for Cady . . .”

  “Stupid do-gooder.” Holly rolled her eyes. “I tried to ignore her, but she kept calling. Finally, I answered and told her I was busy. But she wouldn’t let up. She wanted to be friends.” She said this as if it were the most ridiculous idea in the world.

  “And she’d seen Shannon recently, so she would have known immediately that you weren’t her.” Bree sighed. “If Cady hadn’t gotten in the way, your plan would have worked. No one would have known. It was brilliant, really.”

  “Stupid bitch.” Holly preened at the compliment. She didn’t look stable. But then, normal, stable people didn’t usually kill their own sisters.

  “Was Paul cheating on his taxes?” Bree asked.

  “Paul cheated on everything. He bribed inspectors. He funneled money out of his joint accounts and buried it. He hid money from Angela and the government. When he was ready, he pushed Angela’s buttons to make her leave him. He believed possession was nine-tenths of the law like it was the eleventh commandment.”

  “And you helped him.”

  “I did it all.” Her voice rang with pride. “Paul didn’t know anything about bookkeeping.”

  “And he paid you in extra cash?”

  Holly snorted. “He gave me cash, and I took more. He never even suspected. It was his own fault. He got greedy. He had so many fake transactions flowing through those books, I could barely keep track. It seemed simple to skim off some extra money for my rainy-day fund.”

  “Paul wasn’t that smart. How did he figure out who you really were?” Bree bluffed. It was the only explanation that made sense.

  “He didn’t figure out anything. You’re right. Paul wasn’t that smart. His tax attorney found the business I set up in my sister’s name.”

  “I’ll bet he was impressed. It was an elaborate plan.” Bree continued to stroke Holly’s ego.

  “Paul showed up at Shannon’s house and saw me through the window.”

  “What did he want?” Bree asked.

  “He said I had to fuck him, or he’d call you.” More anger snapped in Holly’s eyes, then a tear rolled down her cheek. “I would never have cheated on Owen. He was the only man for me. I loved him.” She leveled a bone-chilling gaze at Bree.

  “So, instead of fucking Paul . . .”

  “Owen killed him. He was mad that Paul would try to blackmail me into having sex with him. Paul needed to go. He threatened our plan. It would have worked out fine, except Owen panicked when you showed up.” Holly let out a deep sigh. “I loved him, but he couldn’t react in a crisis. It was stupid to shoot you. He should have run.”

  Bree agreed. “How long did it take you to look like Shannon? That was the genius part.”

  “The hardest part was gaining weight. That took a couple of months. I didn’t like letting myself go like that, but Shannon was dumpy, so . . .” Holly shrugged. “The rest was easy. I cut my hair and curled it. Unless someone looked really close, I passed. I even switched our makeup, toothbrushes, and hairbrushes. I knew the medical examiner would do a DNA test.” Holly was bragging outright now.

  “What about your mother? Didn’t you think she’d notice?”

  “She’s mostly blind.” Holly bit her lip. “I did worry about her recognizing my voice. That’s why I’d been avoiding her. I never had a cold. I was hoping she’d die before I had to deal with it. But even if she did figure it out, what would she do? Call the police on her only living daughter?”

  Bree kept her interested poker face intact, but inside, she was thinking, wow.

  “Owen helped you,” Bree said, trying to sound impressed. Holly seemed narcissistic, and narcissists love praise.

  “Of course he helped me. This was our big chance. Shannon had a nice cash cow going. She hardly worked. She made good money. I went through her files. It didn’t seem very hard.”

  “But Owen would still have to deal with the debts.”

  She shrugged. “He was going to declare bankruptcy. The only bad part of the plan was we had to live apart for a while. But we figured in a year or so, Shannon would move. She didn’t have any friends or coworkers. She hardly knew her neighbors. She was wasting her life. She didn’t travel or have fun. She was such a freak.”

  Shannon was the freak?

  “Your plan really was perfect.” Bree tossed out more flattery. “It’s almost a shame you got caught.”

  She suspected Holly was a sociopath as well as a narcissist. She couldn’t resist boasting about her superior intelligence.

  Holly sighed. “I put so much work into it. Paul had forged his kids’ names on corporate documents. He gave me the idea to steal more money from Beckett Construction. I started a new corporation in my sister’s name, and Owen opened an account at the bank. We planned this for years.”

  Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place: Owen’s job had enabled him to illegally open accounts.

  “Why not just take the money and run?” Bree asked.

  “And do what? Live on the run?” Holly’s tone was filled with contempt, as if Bree were an idiot. “This isn’t a TV show. How could we travel without passports? Do you know how hard it is to get fake documents these days? Everything is digital.”

  “You’re right.” Bree nodded. “To have a good quality of life, you need documentation.”

  Holly’s single nod was arrogant. “I wanted Shannon’s business, her nice house, the whole cushy life she’d built.” Jealousy laced her words.

  “You deserved it,” Bree said.

  “I did.” Holly shook her head. “I should have killed Angela. She tipped off the IRS. They started sending Paul audit notices. He was freaking out. I was afraid I’d go to jail with him. I did most of the work. It’s easier to get away with murder than cheat on your taxes.”

  Bree did not point out that Holly had failed on both counts. “Did you make Shannon’s dog sick so you’d have an alibi with the vet?”

  “I would never hurt a dog.” Holly’s posture and tone turned indignant. “I’m not a monster.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “Someone needs to get Chicken,” Holly added. “I’ll miss that dog. He’s ugly, but he’s really sweet.” She blew a frizzy curl out of her eye. “He didn’t like me that much, though. He missed Shannon, but he would have adjusted over time.”

  “So, Owen had an alibi for Friday night. Did you kill Holly alone and dispose of her body?”

  “Do I look like I could have tossed that much deadweight over the side of a bridge?” Holly rolled her eyes. “We killed her earl
y Friday morning—before I went to work—and dumped her Friday night before Owen went to the bar.”

  And because the real Holly showed up for work on Friday, Bree had gotten the time of death wrong.

  Bree said, “I don’t think I’ve ever solved a better-planned murder.”

  Holly huffed. “And it would have worked perfectly if that rescue-dog woman hadn’t been so determined to be so fucking nice.”

  Bree finished the interview and left the room. She found a deputy and instructed him to take Holly to the jail and book her for kidnapping, assault, attempted murder, and first-degree murder. There was no question her crimes had been premeditated.

  Matt met her in her office. “Wow.”

  “Right?” Bree asked. “I’m betting psychopath, sociopath, and narcissist.”

  “The psych profile should be interesting.” Matt’s head tilted. “Do you need to go home?”

  Bree shook her head. “The kids are asleep. I talked to Dana to let her know we were OK.” She looked at her desk. “I should get started on the paperwork.”

  Matt grimaced. “The paperwork can wait. You need sleep.”

  “Sleep would be nice.” Her arm was still numb from the local anesthetic. “I would really like a shower too.” She sighed. “I’m not sure I’m ready to go home. I need to decompress.” She looked up at him. “Can I come home with you?”

  Matt’s eyebrows shot up.

  “To sleep,” she specified.

  “Of course you can.” He looked a little disappointed.

  They didn’t talk on the short ride back to his house. Inside, Matt greeted the dogs and took them out into the yard. He sniffed Brody. “I think Todd gave him a bath. He doesn’t smell like river water.”

  He brought the dogs back inside. Greta headed for her bed. Brody came to Bree for a head scratch.

  “Come on.” Matt led her back to a guest room. He brought her a pair of sweatpants and a ridiculously large sweatshirt. He taped a plastic bag around her arm to keep her bandage dry. “Keep that out of the spray. Towels are in the bathroom.”

  “Thanks.” Bree took a long, hot shower. Then she wandered into the kitchen. Matt’s short hair was damp. He handed her a mug of hot chocolate and a ham sandwich. She finished both in three minutes. “I didn’t even know I was hungry.”

  He took her empty dishes. “Go to bed.” He kissed her on the forehead.

  Bree slid between the sheets of his guest bed and stared up at the ceiling for an hour. Every second of the night replayed in her mind. Finally, she gave up. Padding barefoot through Matt’s house, holding the waistband of the sweatpants up with one hand, she found his bedroom and knocked softly.

  “Yeah,” he answered.

  Without a word, she opened the door, crossed the wood floor, and slid into bed with him. “I can’t sleep.”

  Matt rolled over and tucked her against him. The solidness of him dispelled her loneliness. She’d never been one to seek the comfort of another. When stressed in the past, she’d always chosen to be alone. But peace settled over her as she curled into his body. Times change, sometimes for the better. With the heavy weight of his arm across her body, Bree finally slept.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Mother’s Day

  Sunday morning, Bree and Kayla rode Pumpkin double. Their combined weight wasn’t a problem for the sturdy little horse. He plowed steadily through the meadow. Adam followed on Cowboy, while Luke and Riot took the lead. The more spirited bay gelding tossed his head and pranced. On his back, Luke wore a backpack, its contents bulky.

  They crested the hill at the rear of the farm. They stopped near a tall oak tree. Luke stepped off his horse and collected the reins. Adam lifted Kayla down. Bree’s arm was still in a sling, and her dismount wasn’t pretty.

  “Are you sure?” Bree asked Kayla and Luke.

  They both nodded.

  “This was Mom’s favorite place.” Luke wiped a tear from under his eye and set the backpack at his feet. He opened it, took out the wooden box, and handed it to Bree. Did he need her to start?

  “Mommy used to bring us here for picnics.” Kayla’s lip trembled. “Can we have a picnic here with her someday?”

  “Whenever you want.” Bree swallowed the grapefruit-size lump in her throat and wiped sweat from her forehead. Today felt more like summer than spring.

  When Luke had suggested the meadow, Kayla had immediately agreed. Overhead, the tree’s branches were green with fresh spring leaves. The wind swept across the open field. A few early wildflowers swayed. The coolness of the air was a welcome counter against the warmth of the sun.

  Bree touched Luke’s arm. “You were right. This is perfect.”

  She glanced at each one of them, her family. Her heart swelled. A year ago, she would not have imagined the close bonds they had formed. It was both sad and ironic that Erin’s death had brought them closer. Bree would choose to be grateful that goodness had grown from something so horrible. Happiness was still possible. The sun would continue to shine.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  Luke, Kayla, and Adam nodded. Awkwardly, Bree opened the urn and let some of the ashes fly. She passed the box to Luke, who tipped some into the wind. Kayla and Adam finished. Tears closed Bree’s throat as the breeze took the ashes and carried them across the hill and toward the meadow, as if Erin knew where she wanted to be.

  Go free.

  Luke’s head bowed, but Adam turned his face upward to the sun and closed his eyes. Her brother always saw things from a different perspective. Usually, his was a darker outlook, but today, he seemed to crave the light. Maybe that was a sign. Bree wondered if his artwork would reflect change.

  Her gaze roamed the pretty landscape. The tall grass and wildflowers bent to the wind. She could see the farmhouse and barn in the distance. Erin had loved this farm. It had given her peace in life. Please bring her peace forever. Something in Bree’s chest unfurled, the tension unwinding like a coiled spring slowly being released. Her sister was gone, but from here, she would always be watching over them. Bree took comfort in the thought that she could come and talk to Erin whenever she wanted.

  Kayla looked up at Bree. “Can we go now?”

  Bree looked to Adam and Luke. They nodded. They both looked tired, but also more relaxed. Bree pressed a hand to the base of her throat, where the release of tension had left her feeling a little hollow. They were done here for now.

  “We can.” Bree boosted her up behind the saddle, then mounted. They all rode back to the house.

  After they’d put the horses away, cleaned up, and changed clothes, Bree asked the kids, “Are you sure you want to go to the Flynns’ house?”

  “Yay!” Kayla jumped up and down.

  “Yeah,” Luke said. “It’ll be good to get out of the house.”

  And give them all some time to process the morning.

  Distraction is good, Bree thought.

  They went into the kitchen, where Dana was wrapping fresh focaccia in foil. She’d insisted on contributing to the Flynns’ Mother’s Day brunch. “I’m ready.”

  “Thank you.”

  Adam put the flowers he’d picked in the meadow in a vase. “Let’s go.”

  They climbed into Dana’s SUV and drove over to Dr. and Mrs. Flynn’s house. Matt’s parents lived in a big house on several acres.

  Matt’s mom steered them into a huge great room. Bree introduced the kids, Dana, and Adam. Brody lay in the grass out back. Matt’s brother, Nolan, threw a ball for Greta. The black dog streaked after it. The kids made a beeline for the dogs.

  An apron-clad Dr. Flynn—George—had set out a huge buffet on the patio. “This focaccia looks amazing. You’ll have to share the recipe.”

  Dana smiled. “I’ll trade you for your cinnamon bun recipe.”

  “Deal.” George’s blue eyes twinkled.

  Dana grabbed an apron from a hook. “What still needs doing?”

  “Can I help with anything?” Bree asked, though her kitchen skills were decid
edly lacking.

  “Absolutely not.” Matt’s mom, Anna, put an arm around Bree and steered her out onto the deck, where Cady lounged on a chaise. “Leave the work to George. He is never happier than when he’s cooking and entertaining. And you deserve some downtime.” She deposited Bree in a cushioned chair overlooking the yard. “Coffee, tea, orange juice, mimosa?”

  “Coffee would be great. Thank you.” Bree leaned back. Sunshine warmed her skin and melted tension from her muscles.

  “Let them fuss.” Cady raised a mug. “One, you can’t stop them.” She grinned. “Two, they thrive on it.”

  “OK.” Bree laughed. “You’re feeling better.”

  “Much. Thanks. You?” Cady asked.

  “Better.” Bree adjusted her sling. Her arm was still sore but feeling better every day.

  “I’ll be right back.” Cady got up and lifted her mug. “Need anything from the kitchen?”

  “No, thanks.” Bree turned toward the yard. The kids took turns throwing a ball for Greta. Adam and Nolan drank iced tea and watched the kids. Brody climbed onto the deck and stretched out next to Bree’s chair. She reached down and ran her fingers through his fur. He sighed and closed his eyes. Bree did the same.

  The chair next to her creaked. She opened her eyes. Matt handed her a cup of coffee. “From my mother.”

  She took a sip, then set the cup on a table next to her. “I can’t thank your parents enough for inviting us today. I was hesitant to commit to anything on Mother’s Day, but this was just what the kids needed.”

  “I’m glad.” Matt reached over and put his hand on hers. “And my parents have been wanting to meet you and your family for months. I didn’t want to rush you.”

  “I appreciate that.” Bree watched the two families mingle. She felt like the Grinch when his heart expanded three sizes. Then her thoughts turned to Holly Thorpe, murdering her own sister. Had she been born a sociopath? Had she ever had sisterly feelings for Shannon? What Bree wouldn’t give to have her own sister back . . . “How did Holly—”

  “Nope,” Matt interrupted. “No work talk today. None.”

  Bree smiled. “You’re right. I need to learn to step away.”