Marriage and Murder: Solving for Pie: Cletus and Jenn Mysteries Series Book #2

by Penny Reid

  Ugh. Well, that statement makes me feel like a floating trash island.

  I sighed for a third time, leaning forward in my seat to set my elbows on my knees. “Drew, I don’t want to give y’all a hard time. Just answer me this, because I have to know for my own sanity, and I need a dose of sanity right now: Do you want to marry my sister?”

  “More than anything.”

  “Does she want to marry you?”

  “Absolutely. Yes.” No hesitation.

  “Are you engaged?”

  “No.”

  “Why the hell not?” I resisted the urge to throw my hands up. These days, I’d been resisting so many urges, my resistance could be measured in ohms.

  He shrugged, not looking bothered by my interrogation. “Tell you what, I’ll do my best to answer your question if you answer one of mine.”

  “Deal.” I skootched to the edge of my seat.

  “Tell me, honestly, how can I help—how can your family help—you and Jennifer, and even Ms. Donner, through this dark time?”

  Once more I glanced over his shoulder, searching for something, anything that might help but that also didn’t require the divulging of secrets.

  “You can . . .” I leaned back in the chair again, shaking my head. “You can tell me who killed Kip Sylvester.”

  All the humor drained from Drew’s features, leaving his silvery eyes stark. “The police investigation isn’t going well?”

  “I have no idea. No one will talk to me about it. I don’t even know if they found the gun.” There. That was the truth. I’d never been stonewalled so completely by the sheriff’s office, and stonewalling plus the surveillance of Diane told me everything I needed to know. Jenn’s mother was obviously their number one suspect, for some reason someone had decided to dedicate a ridiculous amount of resources to the investigation, and I needed to intervene as soon as possible. I needed to direct the law’s attention elsewhere. But I had no leads.

  “What about Jackson?” Drew’s forehead wrinkled with what looked like disbelief.

  “No. Not even Jackson will talk to me.”

  “Really? I’m sure he’d talk to one of us.”

  “You think so? You think you can get Ashley to make him talk?” I chuckled tiredly at the sarcastic suggestion, expecting Drew to do so as well. Jackson’s adoration for my sister was no secret, though she did nothing to encourage him.

  To my surprise, Drew shrugged. “Sure. Why not? If you think it’ll help.”

  That had me leaning forward in my seat again. “Would she? Would she do it?”

  “If you asked, she’d do anything. You know that.”

  I stroked my beard, considering the idea for real. It might work.

  I didn’t need her to do anything untoward, just invite the man out to lunch, get him talking. Ash could do it, I knew she could, and she’d make it all seem like his idea.

  At this point, my options were drying up.

  Not all options . . .

  Repo was a thread I hadn’t been able to nail down. Three days after the engagement party, Repo stopped using his Wraiths-issued phone and borrowed other Iron Wraiths’ bikes at random rather than using his own. Burro couldn’t track him reliably anymore. I hated that Repo was so smart. It was almost as inconvenient as Sheriff James’s incorruptibility.

  Complicating matters, I surmised Jennifer and I were also under some sort of surveillance as of last week when I caught a man in a white Ford four-door watching me load groceries into my Geo at the Piggly Wiggly. Ridiculous! Sheriff James’s office did not have the resources to conduct this level of reconnaissance, but obviously someone within the legal system had made tracking Diane and her family a priority.

  Which was one of the reasons I’d delayed my plans to approach Elena Wilkinson. Under normal, non-murder investigation circumstances, I knew she’d likely hesitate before speaking with me, seeing as how my testimony was a big reason her sister rotted in jail.

  So under these tense murder investigation circumstances, I felt certain Elena wouldn’t so much as give me the time of day. I’d have to intimidate her into talking. Side note, I despised how police surveillance made extorting and threatening people difficult. So frustrating.

  But I did keep tabs on the woman.

  After being released from the hospital, she’d arranged Kip’s funeral. My spies on the ground told me the event had been sparsely attended, but that Isaac had made an appearance, sitting in the back and speaking to no one. Jenn hadn’t been there. She’d considered it, but finally made up her mind that very morning not to go. Instead, she’d returned to work and baked for fourteen hours straight.

  I did have one chance to question Elena coming up, however. The reading of Kip’s will, scheduled for this coming week, would be a golden opportunity and one I didn’t plan to squander. Now, I know what you’re thinking; there’s no such thing as a “will reading,” it’s just something movies, TV shows, and mainstream fiction have propagated and harvested for dramatic effect.

  Nevertheless, according to the dead man’s lawyer, Mr. Leeward Esquire, who was also the executor of the will, Kip Sylvester had wished there to be one of these propagated will readings before the document was sent to probate. He’d specifically asked for it and had named the people he wanted in attendance: Diane, Elena, Isaac, Jennifer, and—randomly—my brother Billy.

  Diane had decided not to go.

  I had no idea what Isaac or Elena planned.

  Billy had asked Jenn first thing if she wanted him there, she’d said she did. He was going.

  Jenn planned to attend. She’d asked me to come and support her, and of course I absolutely wanted to do so. Jenn may have been discontent over the last several weeks, and she may have been working through unwieldy thoughts and feelings without sharing them all, but she relied on me. She trusted me.

  Which brings me to the lie.

  “What’s wrong?” Drew, again interrupting my thoughts, tilted his head to the side. “I’m telling you, if you ask Ashley to help, she’ll do it.”

  “Yes. I know that. Thank you,” I said, distracted by the albatross of guilt hanging around my neck. Guilt wasn’t a state I succumbed to often, but when I did, it suffocated like drowning in sand.

  “So, you’ll call Ash?”

  “I will ask for her assistance with Jackson.”

  “Good.” Drew’s stare sharpened. “So why do you look troubled?”

  The lie. I hadn’t yet told Jenn the truth.

  I’d wanted to, but she’d been so withdrawn, worried, sad, and unusually uncommunicative. She jumped at small sounds but didn’t seem to hear big ones. It’s not that she avoided me—she didn’t, not at all, we spent every night together and each of our days off, just like before—but she never seemed to have words to share. I wasn’t going to push her.

  I’d threaten and coerce anyone else who required threatening and coercing in order to keep Jenn and her kin safe, but I’d never do so with her. Ever.

  No. You’ll just omit the truth to keep her safe.

  “Cletus?” Drew prompted, his eyebrows ticking up again. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Well now, I believe you owe me an answer first.” I wiped my features of inner turmoil and mimicked his eyebrow tick. “Why aren’t you and Ash engaged? Why is she planning my wedding and not hers?”

  He openly considered me with his kind eyes, his lips twisting to the side. “Like I said, you should ask Ashley.”

  I threw my hands up. “Drew—”

  “But—” he lifted up a finger “—I will tell you this.” His eyes dropped to his knuckles again and he frowned, like maybe now he was troubled, or he had troubling thoughts. “Losing Bethany hit Ashley hard, as I’m sure it did with all you boys. But think about Ashley’s perspective in particular.”

  “What does my mother have to do with whether or when y’all get married?” I asked, not following.

  “A daughter planning a wedding without her mother,” he said slowly, carefully, his voice low a
nd sad. “Trying on wedding dresses, for example. That’s not something Ash is ready to do, ready to face.”

  My eyes stung. I blinked them.

  “I hadn’t—” I had to clear my throat again “—I guess I hadn’t considered that.”

  “I know Jethro got married last year, but Sienna’s momma was there to mother them both, both Jet and Sienna. I don’t have anyone. Ash and I don’t have anyone, between the two of us, to fill that role. Bethany’s absence, my mother’s absence, will be felt acutely during the planning, and we have to plan a wedding before we can have one.”

  “I guess . . .” Dammit. “I shouldn’t have been pushing y’all.”

  He lifted his eyes again, this time they were appraising. “You know, Cletus. You and Jenn, you’re lucky to have Ms. Donner. Diane, I mean. She’s a force, and I realize the waters haven’t always been smooth for Jenn and her momma, but she loves you both something fierce.”

  I gave Drew a tight smile and a somber nod to disguise the unpleasant and growing sensation in the pit of my stomach. At his well-intentioned words, the albatross around my neck nearly tripled in size.

  Chapter Eight

  *Cletus*

  “Facts do not cease to exist because they are ignored.”

  Aldous Huxley, Complete Essays, Vol. II: 1926-1929

  The time had come to tell Jenn the truth.

  After talking matters over with Drew, and with the reading of Kip’s will looming on the horizon, I accepted there’d never be a right time to break the news to Jenn about her mother. A reason would always exist to not tell her. Like I’d said to Drew, reasons was just another word for excuses.

  Today. I’d tell her today.

  I wasn’t certain how closely the police were tracking us, how much they were listening, but I needed to find out. As such, I’d sent a distress call to my friend in Chicago asking for help and relied on Drew to communicate my immediate needs to Ashley. I hope they didn’t bug the office . . .

  No biggie. It’s not like we’d said anything incriminating.

  In the meantime, in an abundance of caution, I decided to escort Jenn someplace private but loud in order to break the news.

  “We’re going to a nightclub in Knoxville. I brought clothes for you. This is what I’m wearing. You can change when we get there, if you want.” We were sitting in one of my Buicks. I’d just picked her up from work. It was presently 11:07 PM on a Friday.

  Jenn looked at me. Her work clothes—jeans and a plain white T-shirt—were sprinkled with a mixture of flour, cinnamon, nutmeg, and cardamon which I collectively referred to as bakery dust. She nodded, her eyes wide as they held mine. She wanted to ask questions. I could see them pressing plain as day behind her stiffly accepting façade. Yet she remained quiet.

  I turned the engine, staring at her schooled features, and my heart quickened. Something was wrong.

  How much did she know about the level of police surveillance we were under? Did she know more than me? Had that been why she’d been stingy with her words? Was that . . . wait a minute.

  Is that why sex over the last several weeks has been silent and in the dark? I’d assumed our subdued intimacies were related to Jenn’s inner turmoil, not due to suspicions of exterior voyeurism.

  My mind an obstacle course of suspicion, I sifted through our interactions over the past several weeks as I pulled out of the bakery and took the road to Knoxville. Her mostly single-word answers; her (albeit sad) acquiescence to Diane’s lack of conversation over dinners; her rebuffing my overtures during daylight hours only to wake me in the dark with quiet kisses and searching hands. Middle of the night was now the only time we made love, but we made love in the middle of the night all the time.

  I glanced at Jenn out of the corner of my eye. She sat stiff and straight in her seat, her features free of any telling emotion. She knows something.

  Well. Thank God I’d taken action today!

  How long had she been planning to keep information from me? I tried not to twist myself into a tizzy, but as soon as we were in that club, she was going to give me answers. I wasn’t even going to wait until we were on the dance floor, the upstairs office would have to suffice. My attention flicked to the rearview mirror, force of habit, and I was not surprised to find what looked like the white Ford four-door some distance behind us. I could tell by the headlights.

  Our drive was over in thirty minutes. She let herself out of the car as I grabbed our things from the back, and then steered her toward the side door. I gave the bulky bouncer my information when he answered my knock. Giving us a once-over, he pulled out a phone and tapped out a message. The owner and I were friendly and, though I hadn’t informed her of my intentions, I knew she’d be fine with it. A short moment later, he nodded and stepped to the side, allowing us access up a set of stairs, the music thumping, chasing our heels as we climbed the two flights.

  “You can change in here.” I opened the door to the office and followed her in. The space appeared unused. An empty desk shoved against a wall and nothing else, not even a chair.

  As soon as the door closed, I faced her. “Your phone, did you leave it in the car?” The phone she’d lost the night of the engagement party was still missing. We’d had to replace it with a new one.

  She nodded eagerly, “Yes. It’s in the car.”

  “Good. Mine too. We can talk in here freely then.” I dropped the bag full of clothes and accoutrements to the floor and stepped into her space, gathering her hands in mine. “What is going on with you?”

  She exhaled a tremendous breath, her expression pained. “So many things. First, thank you.” She released my hands and threw her arms around me. “Thank you for arranging tonight. I don’t know what all they’re watching. I assume our phones, right? I thought about writing you a note, and then I thought maybe they’d get a hold of that. I thought I could burn it? Only, it’d be weird for me to burn a piece of paper. I mean, I don’t know how this works!”

  “How what works?” I held her tighter. Despite her distress and tension, I enjoyed the feel of her soft, luscious body pressed against mine. We hadn’t been hugging as much as before, I guess now I knew why.

  “You know what! I’ve never been under surveillance by the police before.” She leaned away, her voice strained. “I know I’m not acting normal, but it’s hard to act normal when you’re being watched.”

  “Jenn, what—specifically—do you know?”

  Her head reared back on her neck and she blinked at me. “What do you mean? What do you know?”

  “Do you know for a fact we’re being watched?”

  “Uh, yes. They’ve bugged, or tapped or whatever, my house.”

  Really? Just how much money and man power were the police dedicating to this? “How do you know this?”

  “Because I found a bug—or whatever. It’s called a bug, right?”

  What? “Where?”

  “In the kitchen. And a camera in the hall. Lord, it’s hard not to look at it now that I know it’s there.”

  Ice entered my veins followed by white-hot rage. Stepping away from Jenn, I took a breath. Then another.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  “Jenn.” I had to clear my throat of gravel before I could continue. “Jenn, did you let anyone inside the house recently?”

  “What? No. No one.”

  “Not a—a repair person? Anyone?”

  “No. Of course not. Why?”

  I endeavored to keep my voice steady, but what THE FUCK good was a state-of-the-art security system if folks could just willy-nilly enter and exit as they saw fit.

  Alex and Quinn. That’s who’s going to redo the system. And I’m adding a moat. With alligators.

  “Fourth Amendment laws are tricky. But the law can’t place video cameras in your house unless you invite them inside. They can be under cover at the time, pretending to be a repairman or something, but you have to invite them in.”

  “Uh . . .”

  “So, without a warrant, wh
ich are usually rare for video surveillance inside people’s houses, the police are not allowed to put cameras on private property. They might point a camera at a house from the street, like what they’re doing with your momma’s place. But, honey, that’s not a police camera inside your house.”

  “What?”

  I shook my head, covering my mouth with my hand, working to get a handle on my temper.

  “Not the police? Then who?”

  “Someone else.” And when I found that person—

  “Oh no! So—so the police aren’t—”

  “At this point, I honestly don’t know anymore.” I thought about the man in the white Ford. He was probably parked outside. I crossed to the window and peeked out the blinds. I didn’t see him, so I paced away. “I think they’re watching as much as possible, maybe even listening, following. The bug you found might’ve been theirs, but I doubt it. Local police usually don’t dedicate resources like this to a townie murder. This whole thing doesn’t add up.”

  Jenn collapsed in the chair, her eyes wide, her lips parted, all the color draining from her face. She stared forward, and I was grateful for the minute her internal deliberations afforded me. I didn’t want to tip off the voyeur, yet there was no way I’d continue to let someone invade Jenn’s—our—privacy. I was so disappointed in myself. How long had it been going on? Hopefully, Quinn and Alex in Chicago could tell me.

  “You know, I was trying to be strong. I was trying to follow your lead and pretend like everything was fine.” She huffed a laugh. “And you didn’t even know.”

  Her words weren’t an accusation against me, she was upset with herself, and that only made it worse. Protecting Jenn, keeping Jenn safe, that was my job.

  Dead ends and missed details. What has happened to me? I used to be sharper than this. I used to be a katana and now I’d become a butter knife. Maybe even a spoon.

  Her chin wobbled and she sighed again, this time it sounded watery. “I missed you so much.”

  In an instant, I was kneeling in front of her, my hands on her face. “Oh, Jenn. This is my fault.” It was my fault. I wasn’t sure yet how thoroughly I’d failed, and that was also a problem. “I will find out who did this, and I will devise a punishment to suit the crime.”