Cut to the Corpse

by Lucy Lawrence

  “Ruby said she hasn’t been in since Clue’s death,” Brenna said. “She spends all day in her bathrobe, eating junk food and staring at his picture.”

  “Do they think she might be the killer?”

  “I couldn’t really ask her that directly,” Brenna said. “I got the feeling, from the way they kept changing the subject, that they are protective of her, and Ruby was holding a very sharp pair of scissors at the time.”

  “Wise decision,” Tenley agreed.

  “I thought so,” Brenna said. “I think I’ll try to stop and see her tomorrow, however.”

  “Under what pretense?”

  “I don’t know. I’m still working that out,” she said. “I’m too old to be selling Girl Scout cookies, aren’t I?”

  “A bit. Listen, why don’t you go get ready for your date? We’re closing in a few hours—I’m sure I can handle it alone.”

  “Maybe I will,” Brenna said. “That way I can spend some time with Hank before I go out.”

  “Have fun tonight,” Tenley called after her with a wave.

  “I’m just gathering information about Clue,” Brenna said as she stood and slung her purse over her shoulder.

  “I know, but have fun anyway.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “And I expect a full report in the morning!” Tenley shouted after her.

  Brenna gave her a noncommittal nod and strode to her Jeep. She didn’t feel nervous about having dinner with Dom, but there was an undeniable spring in her step and it was a good thing, too. The Porter sisters had just rounded the corner and spotted her. As they sped up their pace, Brenna turned the key and hit the gas. With a cheery wave, she zipped by them and headed home.

  “Do not look at me like that,” she said.

  Hank ignored her command and gave her his best neglected dog woe-is-me face.

  “I do not feel guilty for having a date, and you can’t make me,” Brenna said.

  Hank responded with a low whimper.

  “We took an hour-long hike, played Frisbee, and you had a lovely dinner,” Brenna said. “So don’t waste your whining on me.”

  She stood back from her full-length mirror and checked her image. Her Maggy London ended just above her knees and was created from long, thick stripes of mesh over beige alternating with black satin stripes, having a peekaboo effect of her body beneath. She wore her Weitzman black pumps and carried a matching clutch. She’d kept her hair down and accessorized with the one-carat diamond studs her parents had given her for her college graduation. The effect was flirty but sophisticated and she was pretty sure Dom would approve. Obviously, Hank did not.

  There was a knock at the door and Hank erupted into an explosion of barking. Brenna glanced at the clock. Dom was twenty minutes early. Good thing she was ready.

  Her heels clacked against the wooden floor as she crossed the living room. Hank was whining at the door and Brenna hoped that Dom liked dogs.

  She grabbed Hank’s collar and swung the door wide.

  “Hi,” she said with a smile, but the man standing in the doorway was not who she expected, and she let go of Hank with a jolt of surprise.

  Chapter 10

  Nate’s gray eyes went wide as he took in her appearance, and he neglected to brace himself when Hank launched himself.

  “Oh, no!” Brenna cried out as both man and dog went down in a heap. “Sorry.”

  Hank straddled Nate and licked his face while Nate tried to look around his yellow head at Brenna.

  “Okay, boy, okay,” Nate said, scratching Hank’s ears. “I love you, too.”

  He rolled out from under Hank, and grabbing a tennis ball off of the porch floor, he threw it overhand out into the yard. Hank took off after it in a spasm of glee.

  Nate turned back to Brenna and his gazed raked her from head to toe. “You didn’t mention that your dinners with Hank were formal occasions. I can see why you needed to teach him some table manners.”

  “Actually, I was just getting ready for a date,” she said. She felt her face flame hot, which was ridiculous, because Nate was just her landlord and a friend. Why would he care if she had a date?

  “Uh-huh,” he said. He followed her into her cabin, although she hadn’t invited him, and stood in the center of the living room with his arms crossed over his chest, while she went to retrieve her purse from the bedroom.

  “I thought you were coming back tomorrow,” she said.

  “That was the original plan.” His frown deepened when she paused to spritz on some perfume.

  He ran a hand through his wavy brown hair, a manner-ism Brenna had come to know as a sign of exasperation. He was wearing a charcoal T-shirt with a Yankees logo on it, tucked into well-worn jeans. He looked good, better than she remembered, although it had only been a few days since she’d seen him, and she felt her stupid crush for him rear its annoying head.

  “What did you do to your hair?” he asked. He didn’t sound pleased.

  “Tenley badgered me into visiting Totally Polished and Ruby straightened it,” she said. “Does it look bad?”

  “No,” he said reluctantly. “I just like it the way you usually wear it, all loose and curly.”

  “Oh.” She tried not to feel offended and decided to switch the subject. “So, what was it that brought you home early?”

  “You.”

  “Me?” she asked. She felt her pulse pick up at the thought that he’d come home for her.

  “I got a call from Chief Barker. He seems to think you might be butting into the investigation of Clue Parker’s murder and wanted me to talk to you,” he said.

  Her spurt of hope popped like a soap bubble.

  “I am not butting in,” she protested. She opened her clutch and checked that she had her wallet, keys, and lipstick.

  “Really? Then what were you doing at the Milstead Paper Mill this morning?”

  “Saying yes to a date with me,” a voice answered from the door.

  Brenna turned to see Dom Cappicola silhouetted in the doorway.

  He was wearing a black Prada suit with a black dress shirt and tie. With his dark hair and eyes, he looked nothing short of dangerous. With a sideways glance, Brenna could almost see Nate’s hackles rise.

  “Nate, you remember Dom?” she said.

  “Cappicola,” Nate said and extended his hand.

  “Williams.” Dom clasped his hand.

  Their handshake seemed cordial, but there was a current of hostility pulsing between the two men that was palpable.

  Mercifully, Hank chose that moment to come bounding into the cabin with his ball in his mouth. Dom stepped in front of Brenna as if to protect her, but it wasn’t necessary. Hank dropped his ball and sniffed Dom’s shoes.

  “This is Hank,” she said to Dom. “I’ve been dog sitting him for Nate. He’s friendly.”

  “Oh,” Dom said. He smiled at Brenna and Nate as if it all made sense now. He bent down and held out his hand for Hank to sniff. When Hank wagged, he reached over and scratched his ears.

  “Hank’s bowls and things are all in the kitchen,” Brenna said. “Let me get them for you.”

  “I can do it,” Nate said. “You two go ahead. I’ll lock up when we leave.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely,” Nate said. “Thanks for watching him while I was away.”

  “It was fun,” she said. “He’s a great dog. It’ll be quiet without him around.”

  “You’ll just have to find someone else to hang around in his place,” Dom said as he straightened up and looped an arm around her waist.

  Nate frowned at him, and Brenna wondered if it was Dom’s family connections that Nate disliked or something else.

  Dom glanced at his watch. “We’d better go. We have reservations.”

  “Good night, Nate,” Brenna said. She stooped to scratch Hank’s head and said, “See you, roomie.”

  “Have fun,” Nate called after them, and Brenna wondered if he was being sarcastic or if that was just wishfu
l thinking on her part.

  Dom helped her pick her way across the grassy lawn to his car in the communal parking lot. It was a black Volvo wagon and Brenna looked at him in surprise.

  “What?” he asked with a laugh. “You expected a Ferrari or an Escalade? Volvos have a very high safety rating, you know.”

  “It’s just that every time I think I know you, you surprise me,” she said.

  “Is that a good thing?”

  She let him help her into the passenger’s seat.

  “Yes,” she said. She saw him smile as he walked around the car.

  He started up the engine, and Brenna glanced back to see Nate, standing on her porch watching them. She felt a sudden longing to stay here and be with him, but she shook it off. He had certainly never alluded to anything more than friendship between them and she didn’t want to damage the friendship they already had by letting her feelings get out of hand. Besides, she knew she’d be talking to him soon, as she had a feeling she hadn’t heard the last of his conversation with Chief Barker.

  Dom took Route 20 out of Morse Point, which was a relief because she knew it would be all over town if they were seen together. Not that it was a bad thing to be seen with Dom, but she really didn’t want to be the focal point of gossip just now.

  They didn’t speak but let John Legend pour out of the car speakers in a soothing wash of sound. It was several songs later before Dom took an exit that led them down an old postal route. They wound through the woods for a stretch until they came to an old covered bridge.

  A rough, dirt parking lot surrounded the bridge and

  Dom pulled into an available spot. He climbed out and circled the car to get her.

  “Have you been here before?” he asked.

  “Never,” she said.

  “You have to walk across the covered bridge to get to the restaurant beyond,” he said. “But the food is worth it.”

  “I think the bridge is worth it,” Brenna said. Her love for all things old made her pause to study the red bridge, perched over the shallow rushing river below.

  It was lit on each side by spotlights, and moths danced in the warm June air as they flirted with the light.

  Dom took Brenna’s arm and led her across the uneven wooden boards. They stopped halfway across at one of the small square windows to gaze at the river below.

  “It’s a beautiful spot,” she said.

  “I used to think so,” he said.

  “You don’t anymore?”

  “Let’s just say that next to you, it pales in comparison,” he said.

  Brenna burst out laughing and he grinned.

  “What? Over the top?”

  “A little,” she said. “But I like it.”

  He tucked her hand around his elbow and they left the bridge to follow the path to the old Victorian farmhouse, known as the Thistle Inn, beyond.

  The inn’s restaurant was one of the finest in the area, and although Brenna had heard of it, she’d never eaten there before. She and Dom were led to a table, by a tall floor to ceiling window, which was draped in a thick linen cloth with a white pillar candle circled by a wreath of white roses interspersed with red berries.

  It reminded her of the wedding bouquet Tara had been so ecstatic about and from which they were going to design her wedding favors. Brenna frowned. It seemed wrong to be enjoying herself while Tara’s life was such a train wreck.

  Dom pulled out her chair, and as if she had conjured her by thinking of her, Brenna glanced up to see Tara enter the dining room, flanked by her parents.

  She froze halfway into her seat and Dom followed her gaze. “Oh, the bride.”

  For a split second, Brenna considered pretending she hadn’t seen them. A lifetime of good manners prevailed, however, and she dropped her clutch in her chair.

  “I should go say hello,” she said.

  “I’ll come with you,” he said.

  “Oh, no, that’s all right,” she protested.

  He raised an eyebrow at her and took her elbow.

  The hostess had seated the Montgomerys at a table by a window across the room. Brenna couldn’t help thinking that this was another fine mess she’d gotten herself into as they wound their way through the tables.

  In a nutshell, the Montgomerys knew her parents, and she was having dinner with a mobster, reformed, but still, not on her parents’ short list of desirable people with whom she should be associating. If word got back to her parents, she was going to have a lot of explaining to do—a situation definitely to be avoided.

  She could only hope that Tiffany was so consumed with her daughter’s plight that she wouldn’t mention seeing Brenna to anyone.

  “Hello, Tara,” Brenna said as they approached the table. “Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery.”

  The three of them looked up as one, and Brenna could see the ravages of the past few days on their faces. Tara was sickly pale and her eyes were swollen and red-rimmed as if she’d been crying as soon as she rehydrated her tear ducts. Tiffany was more put together but her face looked tense, and no amount of foundation could hide the sleepless circles under her eyes. Tyler looked strained, his jaw clenched tight, as if he were chewing on a particularly grisly piece of meat.

  “Brenna!” Tara jumped up from her seat and threw herself into her arms. “It’s so good to see you. Jake won’t talk to me and Chief Barker keeps asking me questions, but I don’t know anything. I swear I can’t remember what happened that night.”

  A dry sob wracked her body and Brenna hushed her and patted her back. She couldn’t help but feel protective of this young woman for all that she was going through.

  “Tara,” Tiffany said as she rose to stand beside them. “Let’s not have a scene.”

  Tara peeled herself off of Brenna and gave herself a gentle shake. “Of course, I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just so good to see a friendly face.”

  “It’s good to see you, too,” Brenna said, and meant it.

  Tyler stood and extended his hand to Dom. “Tyler Montgomery.”

  Dom clasped his hand. “Dom Cappicola.”

  Tiffany and Tyler exchanged a quick look, but not quick enough. Brenna could tell from the widening of Tiffany’s eyes that they recognized Dom’s family name. Now they were probably thanking their lucky stars that their daughter was only facing a murder rap and not dating a mobster. Brenna wanted to protest that Dom was making the family business legit, but that would be socially awkward at best.

  “You look gorgeous,” Tara gushed. “Is that a Maggy London?”

  “Yes, it’s my favorite little black dress,” Brenna said.

  “Every girl has to have one,” Tiffany said.

  “Or fifteen, I swear they swap them out like putters,” Dom said in an aside to Tyler, who looked momentarily nonplussed and then broke the tension by laughing.

  “Do you golf, Dom?” he asked.

  “My handicap is in the mid- to low seventies,” he said.

  Tyler leaned back on his heels and raised his eyebrows. “We should play a round.”

  “Tyler!” Tiffany protested.

  “When things—calm down, of course,” he said.

  “Of course,” Dom agreed with a small smile.

  “We’ll let you get back to your dinner,” Brenna said. “Tara, feel free to call me anytime.”

  “I will,” Tara said, looking tearily grateful.

  Dom led Brenna back to their table, and as they resumed their seats, she asked, “Do you really golf?”

  “Not a stroke,” he said. “But I didn’t want them to judge you for dating a mobster’s son. And that man’s heart lies on the rolling greens of St. Andrews.”

  “How did you know?” she asked.

  “Educated guess. They reek of old money, and I could see his golf tan around his collar.”

  “You’re good,” Brenna said. “What are you going to do if he calls you for a game?”

  “Feign an injury,” he said. “A groin pull, no one ever asks you about those, they don’
t want to know.”

  Brenna laughed out loud. The man had charm, she had to give him that.

  As if by unspoken agreement, they kept their conversation neutral during dinner, keeping it to favorite vacation spots, movies, and books. It was while they lingered over their coffee, and after the Montgomerys left, that Brenna finally asked the questions that were bubbling up inside of her.

  “So, did you find out anything about Clue?”

  “First, I have a question for you,” he said.

  “All right.” She stirred a dribble of milk from the small white pitcher into her coffee.

  “Are you here just because you want to know what I found out at the mill?”

  “No,” she said, meeting his gaze. “I’m here because I want to be.”

  “At the risk of overstepping my bounds, I have to ask, is there something between you and your landlord?”

  “Friendship,” Brenna said.

  She glanced quickly back down at her coffee. She didn’t really want to admit that she had an unrequited crush on Nate, but Dom deserved the truth, no matter how embarrassing it was for her.

  “I like him—a lot,” she said. “But he doesn’t return those feelings. Ugh, that makes me sound like such a loser.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Dom said. He reached across the table and took her hand. “It makes him sound like an idiot.”

  “He’s not, he’s just . . .”

  “Stone-blind?” Dom suggested. “A eunuch?”

  Brenna laughed. Dom’s hand was warm around hers.

  “Listen, I’m not going to push you,” he said. “But I’m not going to disappear either. When you get tired of waiting for Prince Charming to get his head out of his derriere, you let me know. In the meantime, I’d like to take you out again—nothing serious, just friends.”

  “I’d like that,” Brenna said.

  “All right, here’s what I found out about Clue,” Dom said as he released her hand and leaned forward, keeping his voice low. “He was never late, rarely called out sick, and knew how to work every piece of machinery on the floor. The men wanted to be like him and the women wanted him. Period. Until they dated him, at which point they hated him. Apparently, he was going through women like a race car goes through tires.”