by Jill Winters
As he turned into a small wooden shop, he didn't bother trying to find a parking space, but just parked kind of perpendicular to the place. It appeared to be what the other customers had done, as well. Come to think of it—where were the parking spaces?
"All right," he said, leaning over to brush a kiss across her lips.
"Be back in a minute."
Suddenly she thought about the bears in the area and how there seemed to be nothing for miles around this little shop, and she said, "Wait, I'm coming with you!" and hopped out of the car. Reaching back, Rick put his arm around her shoulders, gave her an affectionate squeeze, and another kiss, this time on her cheek.
When they ducked through the door, a little bell jingled over their heads and they stepped inside a wood-paneled shop lined with shelves full of food and cans. There were only two small aisles, but they were filled with every kind of supply, snack, or thing you could want. "We can stop back for groceries for dinner later if you want," he said.
"Sure," she said. "I'll cook again."
"No, you don't have to," he said. "I know; I like it."
Rick went about getting some items for their day, and Gretchen browsed, loving the charming quality of this rustic little place. Light music tingled in their ears, and the sun streamed through windows with homemade-looking green-and-white floral curtains. "Hiya, Brody! How have you been?" the old lady behind the counter said, lighting up when Rick went up to pay.
"Hey, Alice, how are ya?"
"Good, good. I haven't seen you or your brother up here in a while. Ever since..." Her voice trailed off, and Gretchen wondered if she was about to mention Rick's dad. Maybe she hadn't seen Rick since before his father had died.
And Rick said, "I've been here, just never for too long at a time, with work and everything in the city." He handed her money and set his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans.
"Heyuh," Alice said, looking over at Gretchen, who was across the store. She lowered her voice, though Gretchen could still hear her. "Who's that? Your girlfriend?"
"Yup."
Gretchen froze in the aisle, having heard that. Her heart kicked up and she smiled to herself.
"Pretty," Alice said.
"Yup," Rick said again. "I know it. Listen, take care Alice. We'll be back later today."
"Okay, Brody. It sure is great seeing you again."
"You, too. Ready?" he said when he met up with Gretchen at the door. He held it open for her, his other arm filled with the bags.
"Hey, you never told me why people call you Brody," she said, recalling that was what Brett called him, too.
"I didn't? Oh, it's a nickname, that's all."
"For?"
"For Broderick, that's my real name—and don't laugh."
"Why would I laugh?" she said, hopping up into her seat.
Rick slammed her car door, then went around to hop in his side.
"I'm named after my grandfather," he added. "Broderick O'Meara. Alice has known my family for years."
Impulsively Gretchen leaned over in her seat and pulled him down for a kiss. He wasted no time sliding his tongue in her mouth. "So... I'm your girlfriend now, huh?" she said sweetly when their lips broke apart.
"Yeah, baby," he said, grinning with confidence, then started up the engine.
Meanwhile Gretchen's heart swelled in her chest. "I like that," she said casually. "So what should I call you? What do you like better—Honey Pie or Sugar Cookie? Or I know! How about Little Ricky?"
With a laugh, Rick said, "Yeah, that works."
"Done," Gretchen said, smiling. When they turned the corner, sunlight blared through the windshield; squinting, she angled her head to avoid the sting of it but had trouble blocking it out of her line of vision. She pushed down her visor, but it didn't do much good. The visor on the driver's side seemed to get it done for Rick, but then, he was much taller than she.
"I think there're some sunglasses in the glove compartment," he offered, noticing her discomfort (not that she'd been all that subtle, squeezing her eyes closed and ducking her head in awkward, unnatural ways).
"Oh, thanks," she said brightly and popped the glove compartment open. It was stuffed with junk, paperwork, wrappers, and she was feeling around for sunglasses when she felt something else.
"You smoke?" she blurted, surprised, as she pulled out a pack of Marlboros.
"Oh." With a brief pause, Rick shrugged. "Yeah, a little."
"I didn't know you smoked. You don't smell," she said, then realized how it sounded.
Slanting her a wry glance, he said, "Thank you."
"No, no, I mean—you know what I mean."
"Yeah, I do," he admitted. "I've cut back a lot over the last few years."
"Oh," she said, nodding, setting the pack back in the glove compartment. "Well, that's good," she added supportively but casually, because she didn't want him to think she was going to start nagging him about it. "I'm trying to quit, actually," he threw in. His eyes stayed focused on the road, but she could tell he was deliberately making the point. And he hadn't smoked at all in the time they'd spent together, so he'd clearly not wanted her to know. He must have considered it a weakness, or if nothing else, a turn-off. She didn't know why, but that made her smile.
"How long have you been trying to quit?" she asked neutrally. He shrugged and slid his gaze at her before refocusing on the road. "I don't know, recently."
Biting her lip, she smiled again.
* * *
A few hours later, they'd plowed the hilly roads up to the Crests, walked the wintry trail, and built a fire. Now Gretchen was showing Rick how to make perfect s'mores. "The trick is in being patient. A golden brown, evenly toasted marshmallow actually has better flavor than a charred one, but most people don't know that because they don't want to put in the time." Skeptically, he cast her a sideways glance. "Seriously. You just have to be patient, methodical. Hold your stick just the way you are, but make sure to keep it steady, about two inches above the flame for the first minute, then—"
"Screw that," Rick said, and shoved his stick with his marshmallow into the fire, setting it ablaze. He pulled it right out, blew out the flame, leaving a blackened, wholly charred square shriveled at the end of his stick.
"Or that's another way to do it," she said dryly.
He grinned mischievously at her and fed her half of the gooey marshmallow. "What can I say? When I want something I'm not a patient man."
With a smile, Gretchen nestled closer to him and sighed. "God, I really love it up here. It's so serene." From here they could see a lighthouse down below, quite a distance away, and waves rolling toward it. "So is that house yours now?" she asked delicately, not wanting to tread too hard on the subject of his dad.
"Sort of Brett and I both inherited it. I want to keep it, but unsurprisingly, Brett wants to sell." That struck Gretchen as odd since Brett had been so much closer to their father growing up than Rick—but then, maybe that was why it made perfect sense. Rick was the one who was rife with regrets. To Brett it was a piece of property, but to Rick it was a piece of their dad.
"Won't Brett just sell his half to you?" she suggested. "Yeah, but not for anything I can afford."
"You and he seem so different," she remarked.
"We are, believe me."
Curiously, she asked, "Has Brett ever been in love?"
"Sure," Rick said. "Oh, you mean with another person? Then, no." Gretchen couldn't help but laugh. "Have you?" she probed. "Ever been in love?" he said, his voice warmer. "Yes... I think so."
Suddenly there was a loud crash. Startled, Gretchen sat straight up and said, "Rick! What was that?"
"I don't know. I'll go take a look," he said, coming to his feet, leaving their blanket draped loosely around Gretchen's shoulders.
"Wait, don't leave me here!" she said, scrambling to get up from the log she was on.
"Don't worry, baby," he said. "I'm just gonna look over the bluff I'm not going far. Stay warm by the fire."
&
nbsp; "Are you kidding me!" she yelped, jumping to her feet. "What if a bear comes over?"
"Won't happen."
"But what if? Seriously, we should have a plan in general in case that happens. What should I do if I see a bear?"
"Well, whatever you do, don't run," he said, though he didn't sound like he was taking this conversation that seriously.
"Don't run," Gretchen repeated, crouching close to Rick's side as she glanced around. "Okay, so should I just stand there and hope for the best?"
"No, that doesn't sound too good, either."
"I guess I could run up a tree..." she mused.
"Okay, but bears can climb trees."
"Oh, right...and I can't. Well, there goes that."
Hitching the corner of his mouth, Rick leaned down to kiss her cheek and said, "You worry too much."
Then he crossed to the bluff with Gretchen close behind him.
He surveyed the ground below and saw nothing—except a large branch had fallen off one of the trees and come crashing down. "Must have frozen and cracked off," Rick said, pointing it out for her. "It happens." Then he noticed her forehead pinched with tension. "What's the matter?" he asked, concerned, and slid his arm around her shoulders.
"Nothing. Sorry, I guess I'm just a little... skittish lately." She hadn't even realized it till just now. But she supposed all of the jarring, bizarre incidents that had happened at work lately—the frayed blender cord, the olive oil on the stairs, the broken chair in her office...
The creepy brown spider.
She shuddered. "What is it?" he asked gently, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.
At first, she shook her head to brush off her own silliness. She'd always been a little klutzy—Rick had even teased her about it once. Surely most of what happened could be attributed to that. Well, half of it... she supposed...
Still, it was weird. Her luck had never been that bad.
"Well," she began, leaning into him, "it's going to sound silly, but..."
After she'd told Rick about her various "accidents," she insisted that each one was no big deal, but apparently he wasn't prepared to be as dismissive as she was.
"Each one separately, no," he said, an edge of concern in his voice. "But all together, in a matter of what, a week?" He shook his head firmly. "I don't like it."
After a deliberating pause, she said, "Do you think... It will probably sound crazy, but..."
"What?"
Swallowing, she measured her words in her own mind, thinking that they weren't all that far-fetched after all. "Maybe it's related to Misty's murder? Maybe someone knows that I... that I know something. Or that I've been asking questions—"
"What? What do you mean you've been asking questions?" he said, eyeing her sharply.
"Just to Susanna," she replied in her defense. "Just about mushrooms." As defenses went, it was probably pretty feeble. "Hey! Do you think maybe she mentioned it to Ellie? If Ellie's the killer and she thinks that I know or even suspect that Misty was poisoned by mushrooms, then maybe she's afraid I'll somehow illuminate the police about that fact, causing them to reopen the investigation into Misty's death!"
With a sigh, Rick ran his hand over his eyes and said, "Gretchen, Jesus, I don't want you doing that. I never wanted you to put yourself in any kind of danger with this. I told you what I told you because I wanted to be honest with you. But I never wanted you to try to get involved in some kind of... investigation, for chrissake."
"I know, but I just thought I'd feel Susanna out, that's all. But she didn't seem to have a clue what I was talking about, anyway. And come to think of it, unless she's in on the whole murder scheme with Ellie, Susanna seems too self-absorbed to recall some inane conversation I had with her about mushrooms, or to think it important enough to mention to anyone else."
"Baby, you have no basis to think Ellie murdered Misty," Rick reminded her. "What about what you told me, how Misty was banging Susanna's husband? That seems like a helluva motive."
"True," she said, ignoring the crassness of the term "banging." (They'd work on that later.) "But it just seems like Ellie's life has skyrocketed since Misty's death."
"Granted, it sounds like she had a lot to gain and if the poison was slipped into Misty's food sometime after Brett brought it up to her, then yes, Ellie definitely had the opportunity," Rick said. "But we still don't know she's the one."
"I know, but—wait! What about that comment she made to me at the taping on Monday night? About how I should be 'more careful,' that 'accidents can be dangerous'? Considering the stuff that's been happening to me lately, was it just a coincidence?" she asked rhetorically. Then, thinking out loud, she added, "Now I'm not so sure...
After a speculative pause, Rick said, "Was anyone else there when you were asking Susanna about mushrooms?"
"No," Gretchen replied slowly, shaking her head before she remembered. "Oh, wait. Cady Angle was there. Sort of. I mean, we caught her kind of loitering around Susanna's dressing room. I guess she could've overheard it. But it's not like she has a connection to Ellie—or to Misty. That I know of, anyway."
"Cady Angle? Right," Rick said with a nod of recognition. "Brett mentioned that she always had a crush on him."
Ugh. So what else was new? What was wrong with these women?
Did everyone in the world have a crush on Brett? Gretchen wondered. God, why? So he had a picture-perfect face, so he was rich and famous—he was also a class-A pig, not to mention, a major cheese-ball. And if that wasn't enough persuasion, he was also a shellacked gel-head.
Well, whatever. They had more important issues at hand.
"But even if my 'accidents' lately have been, well, less than accidental, what's the point? It's not like a falloff my chair is gonna put me out of commission or something," Gretchen said with an incredulous wisp of laughter. But then her words drifted off and her humor faded. No, a tumble from a broken chair might not kill her, but getting electrocuted by a frayed cord or bashing her head on a spill down the stairs certainly could. And she'd never bothered to find out what kind of creepy brown spider that was, anyway...
"Gretchen, promise me you'll be extra careful," Rick said now, his expression darkening, his hug possessive. "I don't want anything to happen to you."
"Me, either," she said lightly, trying to eschew the sense of doom that threatened to impose on her weekend with Rick. She kept it at arm's length and that was good enough for now.
Chapter 29
When they returned to New York City, the shit hit the fan. "Brett's been arrested?"
Rick expelled a sigh and sat back in his chair. It was an old leather thing that creaked as it gave. "Jesus, this is such a mess," he muttered, running his hand over his eyes.
Incredulously, Gretchen said, "But how? Why?"
She was sitting across from him on his sofa. They'd gotten back from Maine less than an hour before and found a frantic message from Brett telling Rick that he was in jail. He said that he'd called his lawyer but hadn't been able to get a hold of him yet, and that he was freaked out and needed Rick there. He was really blubbering and carrying on, which kind of surprised her. Hey, if she was in jail, she'd be wailing, too, but she supposed it just sounded odd coming from a guy as "macho" as Brett. Rick hadn't seemed fazed by his brother's blubbering, though, just the desperation itself—the fact that Brett, for all his faults, was in jail and scared out of his mind.
Now Rick hung up the phone, after getting some sketchy details on Brett's arrest from a cop, who was an acquaintance of his and a buddy of one of the firemen in Rick's squad. Turning his head to meet Gretchen's concerned, curious gaze, Rick relayed what little he knew. "Apparently they found a stash of a 'toxic mushroom powder' in Brett's dressing room at TCN," he explained to Gretchen now. "Someone called the police with an anonymous tip about it, said that Brett was bragging about how he killed a girl with it."
"What?" Gretchen said in a state of total disbelief. It was just too bizarre!
"I guess when the cops did
a little following up on the tip, they made the connection between Brett and Misty Allbright, whose death still remained a mystery. I'm guessing that, plus the fact that Brett was sleeping with her—"
"What?" Gretchen said again, though she didn't know why she was surprised. "You didn't tell me that."
"Oh. Yeah, I'm sorry," Rick said, appearing genuinely contrite.
He didn't explain any further, though Gretchen suspected he'd been trying to protect some of his brother's privacy, after telling her so much of what was going on already.
"So the police know about their relationship?" she asked.
With a shrug he said, "I don't know, but my hunch is, if they apply even the slightest pressure, he'll break down bawling. Good thing his lawyer's there. Still, to arrest him the police have got to have something to go on besides traces of poisonous mushrooms—"
"Which were obviously planted," she injected. "His dressing room, that could be anyone at the network! Well... except they'd have to have a key. Unless Brett doesn't keep it locked..."
With his expression unreadable, Rick seemed to be assessing the facts in his own mind, so Gretchen decided to assess them out loud. "We need to think who could be behind this," she said, coming closer, setting her hand gently on his shoulder.
He covered it with his other hand, then angled his chair so he could pull her on his lap. Inwardly, she smiled at the affectionate gesture; even though he had a taciturn, solitary way of dealing with things, he wasn't shutting her out. Which made it that much more important for her to help him. "Goddamn it," he muttered. "I want to have a clue what's going on before I go down to see him. I don't want to just show up empty-handed." Then he slanted an apologetic glance at her. "Sorry."
"I don't care if you curse," she said with mild exasperation. She was flattered he was trying to be a better person for her, but right now she needed to focus. Draping her arms loosely around his neck, she started to contemplate. "The first thing is this—why come out of the woodwork now? As far as anyone knows, Misty's death isn't being investigated at this point. Why try to frame Brett for it? Why call attention to something that people were pretty much starting to forget about? Oh! Unless, whoever it was knew that we knew about the real cause of death and wanted to get the jump on us before we could go to the police about it! Which goes back to my theory that maybe someone overheard me asking Susanna about poisonous mushrooms, or maybe Brett told someone."