Cut to the Corpse

by Lucy Lawrence

  Sally led them across the room into a large break room. Coffee and doughnuts and a bowl of fresh fruit had been put out on a far table. Brenna felt her stomach rumble, but she tried to ignore it. A set of windows looked over the woods beyond the plant, and on the other side of the room another set of windows looked down on the plant below.

  Sally paused by the windows overlooking the plant. “For the safety of everyone on the tour, we’ll be overseeing the plant operations from a steel catwalk. It is mostly enclosed, but there are sections that are open. If anyone here has a fear of heights, you might want to wait as we’ll be ending the twenty-minute tour right here in this room.”

  “How high is the catwalk?” a woman asked. She was tall and thin, wearing a beige business suit and looking ill at ease.

  “Thirty feet,” Sally said.

  “I think I’m going to wait here,” the woman said.

  “Oh, come on, Jane, you can do it,” another woman, shorter and huskier, encouraged her. There was something in her tone, however, that made Brenna think the short one was enjoying the other woman’s unease.

  “Tell you what, Jane, I’ll wait with you,” a man said. “We can eat all of the doughnuts before they get back.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Jane protested.

  “Really, Kyle, she’s not a child, she can wait by herself,” the other woman said, looking unpleasant.

  “True, but I’ve been on this tour before and this will give us a chance to go over the prospectus for next quarter,” he said.

  “Shall we then?” Sally asked with a pointed glance at her watch.

  “Drama in the office,” Tenley whispered to Brenna.

  “Indeed.”

  They followed Sally through a set of double doors and down the narrow catwalk. Parts of it were enclosed and they looked through the glass to the operation below. Brenna had to admit it was a fascinating process to see wood chips transformed into pulp and pressed into paper.

  They learned that hardwood trees such as oaks and maples have wood with very short fibers. Paper made from these trees is weaker than that made from softwoods, but the surface is smoother, making it better for writing and printing.

  Conversely, softwood trees, such as pine and spruce, have wood with long fibers, which make a much stronger paper that is better used for cardboard boxes and other packaging materials.

  The mill was also a depository for recycled paper, which they re-pulped to be pressed and used again.

  While the group paused to study a display board about the recycling process at the plant, Brenna took the opportunity to chat with Sally. Since they were above the floor where Clue had worked, and there was no direct access to the plant, she knew she wasn’t going to have an opportunity to talk to anyone down there.

  “Sally, I noticed a copy of the Morse Point Courier in the display case at the beginning of the tour.”

  “Oh, yes, we’ve supplied their paper for almost a century,” she said, nodding.

  “I live in Morse Point,” Brenna said.

  “Lovely town, very quaint,” Sally said. She smiled and nodded again and Brenna was reminded of a bobblehead doll.

  “It is a small town,” Brenna said. “The residents are very close.”

  Sally stopped nodding and looked cautious, as if she wasn’t quite sure what to say when it wasn’t scripted. Brenna suspected she knew what was coming so she forged ahead before Sally could get away. “Did you know Clue Parker very well?”

  Sally looked from left to right, as if hoping for a rescue.

  “I only ask because I know he worked here,” Brenna said.

  “I knew of him,” Sally said. “I’m in charge of community outreach, so I didn’t have much contact with workers from the floor.”

  “Was he well liked?” Brenna asked.

  Sally’s hand fluttered around her throat. Brenna did not need a degree in psychology to know she was hiding something. Something big. It hit Brenna with a blast of awareness.

  “Did you have a relationship with him?” she asked.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sally snapped. Her hands dropped and fisted at her sides. She tossed her head, making her hair fall back from her face. “I am happily married.”

  “My mistake,” Brenna said. “It’s just that Clue had such a reputation . . .”

  “Listen, Ms. Selma, I really don’t know anything about Mr. Parker,” she said. “Now if you’ll just rejoin the group.”

  Brenna could tell she was upset, and she felt badly to have caused it, but still she knew Sally was hiding something.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said.

  Sally gave her a curt nod but didn’t make eye contact.

  Brenna rejoined Tenley.

  “Get anything?” Tenley asked.

  “All I can say is whoa.”

  “Tell.”

  “Later.”

  “All right everyone.” Sally clapped her hands. “It’s time to head back to the main room. If you’ll follow me.”

  They moved at a clip back to the conference room with the refreshments. Brenna wondered if she could chat up the lady with the troll dolls when they got back.

  “I’m going to see what I can get out of the sales guys when we get back,” Tenley said. “And you?”

  “Office staff,” Brenna said. “I want to know more about Sally the tour guide.”

  “Ooh,” Tenley said with raised eyebrows.

  They entered the break room, where Sally, looking more composed, fielded some questions. Brenna and Tenley slunk out the door back to the main room, where Tenley was greeted by a salesman, who had the look of a shark, while Brenna made her way toward the troll-collecting lady in the cubicle. She was halfway there when a hand grabbed her elbow, stopping her.

  Chapter 9

  “Brenna Miller, or are you going by Selma now?” Brenna turned and found herself face-to-face with Dom Cappicola. He smiled and said, “We have to stop meeting like this.”

  She should have felt the change in the energy of the room. Dom exuded raw power like some men wore too much cologne. Until you were used to it, it overpowered.

  Luckily, she knew Dom well enough to know it wasn’t his fault. It was in his genes to make the people around him nervous. He was a Cappicola, one of New England’s premier mob families, and even though he was going legit, he had generations of bad boy in him that were impossible to ignore.

  “Hi,” she said. “Why am I not more surprised to see you?”

  He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m the bad penny that keeps turning up.”

  Brenna could feel the eyes of every woman in the room on them; some were curious. others were envious. Either way, it didn’t suit her purposes to be so noticed.

  “Are you here for the tour, too?” she asked, trying to keep it casual.

  “No, I’m here to go over the quarterly report with the manager,” he said. “I own this place.”

  “You are kidding me,” she said.

  “I never kid about business.” He grinned. “Come on, I’ll show you my office.”

  Brenna followed him to the side of the room that housed the offices with windows. Dom’s was in the corner, with the best view of the river splitting the hills beyond.

  “Can I get you anything?” he offered.

  “No, thank you,” she said.

  Two leather wing chairs were placed in front of the window and Brenna went to stand by those while he stopped at his desk and picked up his phone.

  “Rich, something unexpected has come up,” he said. His eyes twinkled at Brenna. “Let’s push back our meeting another twenty minutes.”

  He hung up and joined Brenna by the chairs. When they were both seated, he said, “Okay, you didn’t know I owned this place, so it obviously wasn’t me that brought you here, so what did? And what’s with the name tag, Selma?”

  “Paper,” she offered. “Tenley, or rather Patty, is meeting with one of your salesmen right now.”

/>   “Patty and Selma from The Simpsons? Funny. But why are aliases necessary?”

  “We didn’t want to be pestered by salespeople if we decided to go another way,” she said.

  “But we make primarily office paper,” he said. “Vintage Papers is all that froufrou specialty stuff.”

  “We’re diversifying,” she said.

  He pursed his lips and studied her. “Are you aware that when you lie, your eyes become greener?”

  “They do not,” she said. He raised his brows, and she said, “I’m not lying—do they really?”

  “No, but they may as well,” he said. “You’re a terrible liar.”

  “It’s not a complete lie,” Brenna protested. “Tenley is meeting with one of your salesmen.”

  “But . . .”

  “But she’s trying to get information about one of your employees,” she said.

  “Just like you were about to go badger my office staff,” he guessed.

  “Badger is such an ugly word,” she said.

  “Talk to me, bright eyes,” he said. “Maybe I can help.”

  “All right, but I don’t want a lecture,” she said.

  He nodded in agreement.

  “We’re here about Clue Parker,” she said.

  “The mill worker who was murdered?” he asked. “I know he was from Morse Point, but what’s the connection to you? You weren’t dating him, were you?”

  He looked annoyed. Brenna gave him a flat stare, and he had the grace to look embarrassed.

  “Sorry, but the guy certainly blew through the ladies around here.”

  “Around everywhere, apparently,” she said. “You remember the night we saw you at the Willow House?”

  He looked her up and down and Brenna knew he was remembering the dress she wore that night. “Oh, yeah.”

  She ignored the flush that heated her face. “Well, that was the bachelorette party for the woman he was found in bed with the next day. I’m the one who found him.”

  Dom’s eyes went wide and he sat forward in his seat. His look was worried when he studied her face. “Brenna, I’m so sorry. That must have been—are you okay?”

  His concern made her feel more vulnerable than she had in days, and she had to swallow past the knot in her throat before she could speak.

  “The thing is Tara, the bride, is the main suspect, and I just don’t think she did it,” she said.

  “Oh, no,” he said with a shake of his head. “Please tell me you are not getting involved in another murder case.”

  “I’m not getting involved in another murder case,” she said. “I’m just trying to help out a friend by looking for another viable suspect.”

  Dom leaned back in his chair and blew out a pent-up breath. “So, you’re here to ask questions about Clue and see if someone else had a motive to murder him?”

  “That sounds about right,” she said. “So, how well did you know him?”

  “If I don’t help you, you’re just going to forge ahead on your own, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “I refuse to answer on the grounds that I’ll incriminate myself,” she said.

  He sighed. “I knew he worked in the plant, and I knew he had a rep with the ladies, but personally, no, I didn’t know him.”

  “Got any idea who might?” she asked.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said. “You are not going to poke around the mill, asking questions. What if the murderer works here and you get them all riled up?”

  “Then I’ll have a new suspect,” she said.

  “Or get yourself killed,” he snapped.

  He lowered an eyebrow and considered her. Then a slow smile spread across his face. “Seven o’clock. Tonight. I’ll pick you up.”

  “Are you asking me or telling me?”

  “I’ll ask questions today and tell you what I find out over dinner,” he said.

  “What if I want to ask the questions?” she asked.

  “Deal or no deal,” he said.

  It was a deal, but she didn’t say that right away. Instead, she mirrored his look and studied him. His dark hair was short and combed back from his face. His features were square and hard as if he’d seen more of the world than the usual man in an Armani suit.

  This was his business and these people worked for him. She had a feeling he would get much more information from them than she would.

  Finally, she gave him a slow nod and said, “Deal.”

  Brenna met Tenley in front of the building. They walked to Brenna’s Jeep at the back of the lot.

  “So, what did you get?” she asked Tenley.

  Tenley took a deep breath and said, “Well, the salesman didn’t know him as well as I would have liked, but he did know his reputation. Apparently, he was working his way through the female staff here at the plant, including a torrid affair with our tour guide Sally, who happens to be married, and while there had been no formal complaints to HR, they were keeping an eye on him. How about you? What did you get?”

  “A date with a mobster,” Brenna said.

  Tenley stumbled over her feet and stopped to stare at Brenna.

  “Guess who owns Milstead Paper Mill?”

  “Dom?”

  “Ding! Give the lady the big stuffed giraffe,” Brenna said in her best carnival barker’s voice. “He’s going to nose around for us and then tell me what he finds out over dinner tonight.”

  “So, you have an actual date?”

  “Yep.” Brenna unlocked the Jeep and they climbed in.

  “But what about Nate?”

  “What about him?”

  “I sort of thought the two of you . . .”

  Brenna steered the car back through the gate, waving to the guard, and down the winding road back to Morse Point.

  “As far as I can tell, Nate views me as a tenant and a friend—oh, and a dog sitter,” she said.

  “Nothing more?”

  “No,” Brenna said. She ignored the pang she felt at this harsh truth. It was better to be brutally honest than to hope for things that were improbable at best.

  “How long has it been since you’ve had a date?” Tenley asked.

  Brenna had to think about it. Her boyfriend James had broken up with her the last year she’d lived in Boston and that was a year and a half ago.

  “Two years since James,” she said. “Seven if you count anyone but him.”

  Tenley studied her from head to toe. “Step on it. We have work to do.”

  Brenna had planned to work in the shop all day and prep for her date after. Tenley had other ideas.

  As soon as they parked in front of Vintage Papers, Tenley took Brenna by the hand and dragged her down the sidewalk to Ruby Wolcott’s salon Totally Polished.

  “Tenley, where are you going? We need to open the shop,” Brenna said.

  “Detour,” Tenley said as she opened the salon door and pushed Brenna inside. “Ruby, we have an emergency!”

  Ruby was standing behind the reception desk with her beehive of platinum hair up in a full twist. Her hairdresser’s smock was a leopard print with magenta piping and she wore magenta heels to match.

  Her drawn-on eyebrows moved up as she took in the sight of them.

  “What sort of an emergency?” she asked. “Gum in your hair? Hangnail? What?”

  “It’s worse,” Tenley said.

  Two ladies under hair dryers poked their heads out to see what was happening. Ruby’s other hairdresser, Mae, paused while clipping the gray head sitting in her chair to hear what was being said.

  “How much worse?” Ruby asked.

  Tenley pushed Brenna forward. “First date in over two years.”

  A gasp reverberated around the salon.

  “Kelsey,” Ruby barked at the young woman sweeping up hair. “Clear the rest of my morning appointments.”

  “I really don’t think this is necessary,” Brenna began, but Ruby grabbed her hand and studied her cuticles, “Good God, woman, when was the last time you had a mani? These ragged things look
ed like you walked on them to get here.”

  “Have a lovely morning,” Tenley said to Brenna as she dashed out the door with a wave.

  “I’ll get you for this,” Brenna growled.

  “No, you owe me for this,” Tenley corrected her as the door shut behind her, sealing Brenna’s fate.

  Three hours later, having been thoroughly clipped, snipped, waxed, fluffed, and folded, Brenna left Totally Polished.

  She had Pouty Pink nail polish on her fingers and her toes. Her wavy auburn hair had been smoothed and draped down her back with nary a split end in sight. Her eyebrows had been shaped into seductive arches and her makeup made her skin as flawless as cream.

  She barely recognized her reflection in the windows of Vintage Papers, and judging by the greet-the-customer smile Tenley gave her when she walked in, she didn’t recognize her either.

  “Wow!” Tenley said. She jumped up from her seat at the worktable and circled Brenna. “You looked great the other night, but this is all new levels. Dom is going to have a heart attack.”

  “Fabulous,” Brenna said. “Because I need another dead body in my life.”

  “What are you wearing?” Tenley asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Brenna said. “I’m thinking my favorite little black dress.”

  “The Maggy London striped mesh?”

  Brenna nodded.

  “He’s done for,” Tenley said with a shake of her head.

  Brenna rolled her eyes. “What’s been going on here?” “The invitations to Larry Goldbaum’s bar mitzvah came in, and they look great. I think his mother will be pleased. I sold two of your decoupage cigar boxes.”

  “Nice,” Brenna said.

  “And the Porter twins came in demanding to know who your date is.”

  “How did they find out? I swear they are their own information superhighway,” Brenna said as she took a seat at the table. She wanted to work on Betty Cartwright’s cedar hope chest, but she glanced at her fingertips and decided it could wait until tomorrow. After all, she should get at least one day’s wear out of her manicure before she wrecked it.

  “I did use my lengthy stay at the salon to ask about Julie Harper,” she said.

  “Clue’s girlfriend turned stalker?” Tenley sat across from her. “Do tell.”