by Sharon Pape
After they said “good-bye,” Rory spent a few minutes digesting everything she’d heard. She already knew the blackmail had been paid by Brett, and now she understood how he’d come by so much cash. What was still missing from the puzzle, however, was the nature of the secret he was trying to keep hidden.
Chapter 20
With no way to reach Zeke, Rory decided to proceed on her own. They could discuss that decision, or more likely argue about it, when he was back in the neighborhood. Brett Campbell proved to be more accessible. When he answered the phone that evening, Rory could barely hear him above the riotous barking in the background. He excused himself and tried to quiet the dogs with only marginal success. Trying to make herself heard above the commotion, Rory felt like she was at a wedding reception where the music was amped way up. She had to shout to be heard, and even in the most amicable of settings, shouting had a tendency to come across as aggressive. Fortunately, Brett didn’t take it that way. When he heard her name, he didn’t sound the least bit guarded or apprehensive. In fact, she would have described him as surprisingly calm in spite of the hullabaloo raging around him.
“Oh, Rory, hi,” he said. “Sorry about the noise. I brought a couple of new dogs home with me and there’s some jockeying for position going on in my little pack here.”
To Rory, it sounded more like a major uprising. She would have been calling for reinforcements, dart guns and armor, but Brett seemed to be taking it all in stride. That explained a lot. For a man who refereed canine brawls and dealt with blackmail, it was clearly no big deal to talk to a PI about a case the police had officially closed. That suited Rory just fine. If he believed he had nothing to fear from her, she stood a better chance of surprising him with what she already knew and catching his unguarded reaction.
Brett agreed to see her the next night. Rory wasn’t sure if she was hoping Zeke returned in time or not. Although stress often seemed to hitch a ride with him, having an extra pair of ears for this interview could be helpful. Especially now that Brett had snagged the lead in the escalating drama of Brian’s demise.
Rory tucked a copy of Brett’s fifty-thousand-dollar check to Brian in her handbag, along with her loaded.45. Her aunt had characterized the actor as shy, but when murder was the topic of conversation it didn’t pay to take chances. How many times had she heard a killer described by friends and family as “such a nice, quiet guy”?
As she approached Brett’s stately fieldstone-and-clapboard colonial at the eastern edge of Huntington, she could hear a chorus of canine vocals like the ones she’d been treated to over the phone. This time they were coming from the fenced-in backyard. At least she wouldn’t have to deal with them. But when Brett opened the door, there were two more dogs flanking him, both of indeterminate lineage, no doubt the result of many generations of carefree crossbreeding. One appeared to be a border collie mix; the other looked a lot like a golden retriever. Neither of them was a breed associated with ferocity or aggression. Of course, she had no way of knowing what Brett had trained them to be.
The dogs looked at her, then back at their master, as if trying to assess her status. When Brett smiled and held the door open for her, their plumed tails echoed his welcome. Rory held out her hand for them to sniff before she gave them each a good scratch around the ears. The golden groaned with delight. Okay, maybe there wasn’t any cause for concern.
“How many dogs do you have?” she asked, realizing belatedly that the question might have come across as rude.
“Cagney and Lacey here are the only ones that are officially mine. I got them as pups. The three you hear making such a racket out in the yard I’m just fostering until they’re adopted. When dogs have lived in a shelter, they need to be reminded of proper social etiquette from time to time. Sort of like continuing-ed courses for doctors and lawyers. That way when they’re adopted—the dogs, not the doctors and lawyers—they transition into their new families more easily.”
Rory laughed, then scolded herself. She was there to draw out a possible killer, not to be charmed by him. Too bad, her shameless alter ego sighed. Not only was he movie-idol cute, with thick dark lashes and a sensuous mouth, but he also seemed to have a sense of humor. What a pity he was probably a murderer. Falling for one was unfortunate. Falling for a second would be a wake-up call for therapy. Wouldn’t the marshal have a field day with that?
“Come on inside,” Brett said, leading the way into what the architect had probably intended to be a formal living room. The available seating consisted of two brown couches that looked like they’d been snatched from the maw of a garbage truck and partially reupholstered with fur. They faced each other across a low table embellished with a crosshatch of scratch marks. Three empty dog crates were lined up along one wall, each with a thick pad and chew toy inside. Clearly none of the trust fund had been used on interior decorating.
Brett didn’t try to apologize for the décor, for which Rory was grateful. If he had, she would have been in the awkward position of politely assuring him it was lovely. He gestured to one of the couches. Once she was seated, he took the couch across from her. Cagney and Lacey hopped up on either side of him.
“So I hear Clarissa thinks one of us killed her son,” Brett said amiably.
“That’s right, but it sounds like you’re not at all worried there may be a murderer in the troupe.”
“Well, I imagine I would be if I thought it was an actual possibility.”
“And you don’t?”
“In a flash flood like that? Not a chance.”
“Even if someone wanted him dead and saw the flood as the perfect opportunity?”
At least Brett had the good sense to frown and appear to give the possibility some thought before responding. “No, no way. If you’d been there, you’d understand. It happened so fast, it was all we could do to save our own lives. There was no time to think about killing someone, much less to carry it out.”
Well played, Rory thought. Not too much angst, not too little. If this were a play she was watching, she would have applauded. She wondered if he’d practiced in front of a mirror or if it was all raw talent.
“Then you subscribe to the theory that it was just a tragic accident?”
“An accident, yes. But I’d hardly call it ‘tragic,’ ” Brett said, a curl of disgust snarling his upper lip.
“Was there bad blood between the two of you?” Rory asked, feigning shock to see how much more he might reveal.
“There didn’t have to be; I saw how he treated Jessica and Sophia. And from the bits and pieces of conversation I’ve overheard, it wasn’t hard to figure out that he’d scammed Richard as well as some of the other Players. You don’t have to be sprayed by a skunk to know he’s not someone you want to hang out with.”
Rory had to admit that Brett was making a believable pitch for his innocence. Of course, he wasn’t aware of the devastating evidence Rory had in her handbag. And she wasn’t quite ready to pull it out yet.
“Let’s say the situation in the canyon hadn’t been quite so critical and there’d been enough time for Brian to be murdered,” she proposed. “Who would have your vote as the killer?”
Brett issued a low whistle. “That’s quite a question.”
Rory shrugged. “I’m on the outside; you’re on the inside. I’d just like to get your perspective. No big deal. I’m not asking you to sign an affidavit.”
Brett sat up straighter, his body and face more rigid. Cagney and Lacey seemed to feel the shift in his attitude. Their ears pricked forward, and they stared at Rory as if to put her on notice. “There’s no way I’m going to point a finger at any of my colleagues,” Brett said tightly. “Not even in the guise of an intellectual game.”
Rory was impressed. If he was guilty, he’d just walked away from an opportunity to lay the blame elsewhere. Murderers weren’t generally that altruistic. At least now she knew how far she could push him before he pushed back. Or set the dogs on her. Maybe it was time for a little fence-mending.
“Fair enough,” she said. “I guess I’d feel the same way if I were in your shoes.”
Brett relaxed and sat back against the cushions. The dogs relaxed as well.
“The funny thing is that I’d initially shut the door on the murder theory myself and mostly for the reasons you cited. But after listening to Clarissa…well, she did manage to pry that door open a bit. According to her, Brian had more enemies than friends—real enemies who would have loved to see him dead.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Brett said. “But wanting Brian dead isn’t exactly in the same ballpark as killing him.”
“And yet it can be. Sometimes the distance between the ‘wanting’ and the ‘doing’ is only one quick step.”
He shrugged as if that statistic held no interest for him. “I guess you’d know more about that in your line of work.”
“Which is why I have to investigate every red flag that pops up.”
“Sure, I get it.”
“I’m glad you understand,” she said opening her handbag and withdrawing the copy of the check. She left the bag partially open on her lap, the.45 inches from her hand should she need it.
“Are you saying you found a red flag by my name?” Brett asked, concern finally apparent on his face.
“I just have some questions, if you don’t mind.”
“What kind of questions?”
The kind that require answers, she thought. It was amazing how often she heard that line. “For example, did Brian ever work for you?”
“Work for me?” Brett asked, clearly puzzled by the question, which was Rory’s intention. “No, why?”
“Did you ever lend him money?”
“No.”
“Or invest in one of his scams?”
“No.” The actor’s irritation was beginning to show. “What are you getting at?”
“Well, if he didn’t work for you, borrow money from you or scam you, then I have to assume the fifty-thousand-dollar check you wrote him was a blackmail payment. And since he wasn’t killed until after that payment, I also have to assume that he’d approached you for more, and you decided to put a stop to further demands.”
“Wait, wait just a minute there,” Brett said, he and the dogs once more on full alert. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Damn, he was good. He knew the jig was up, but he was playing indignant and innocent so well that he almost convinced her she didn’t know what she knew. It was time. She unfolded the photocopied check and held it out to him.
Brett didn’t reach for it, but from the distress that flashed across his features, it was clear he recognized it immediately. In the tense silence that followed, Rory hoped he wouldn’t set the dogs on her. She really, really didn’t want to have to shoot a dog.
“I don’t expect you to understand,” Brett said, standing abruptly as if his agitation was demanding some form of action. Rory and the dogs remained on their respective couches, watching and waiting as he started to pace around the couch where he’d been sitting.
Rory figured he was considering his options or building up the courage to confess. She was pulling for the confession. That was when the dogs started growling. Before she had a chance to worry about their intentions, she felt a tap on her shoulder. Zeke was back in town. For a split second, the marshal actually blinked into view, parts of him anyway. His face was hanging in the air wearing a jaunty expression, and floating in the air beneath it were several assorted limbs. In spite of the songwriter’s claim, this was one instance when the thigh bone was definitely not connected to the hip bone, or any other bone for that matter.
Brett rounded the couch on his second lap in time to see the pieces of Zeke vanish. He stopped short, his face draining of color as if he’d seen a ghost. He rubbed his eyes with his fists, and when he opened them again, he was clearly glad to find only Rory and the dogs in the room. Cagney and Lacey, with their superior senses, didn’t share his relief. Whimpering in confusion, they jumped off the couch and ran out of the room, tails tucked securely between their legs. Brett was still so focused on whether or not he’d had a hallucination that he didn’t try to call them back.
“I didn’t just…I mean, did you…no, no, forget it, never mind,” he sputtered, trying to mold impossible thoughts into rational sentences.
Rory knew exactly what he was asking, but she didn’t plan on clarifying anything. In fact, she was hoping the marshal’s little faux pas might have rattled Brett enough to convince him that confession would be good for his soul.
“Is something wrong?” she asked innocently.
Brett dropped down on the couch again, his earlier agitation having clearly been run out of town by more pressing concerns about his sanity. “I don’t think I’ve been getting enough sleep lately,” he mumbled. “Where were we again?”
“You were about to explain why Brian was blackmailing you,” Rory said. Hey, it was worth a shot.
“Any chance I could expect you to keep something in confidence?”
“As long as it has no legal significance.” Like a motive for murder.
“It doesn’t,” he said finally, “but you’re going to think it does. Unfortunately, you don’t know me well enough to believe me when I say I didn’t kill Brian. I didn’t kill him even though I’m one of the people who wished him dead.”
Rory weighed her next move. She didn’t want to scare him off when he seemed so close to a confession of some sort. “How’s this—I won’t go to the authorities with what you tell me unless and until I have concrete evidence that you killed Brian. If you’re innocent, that should satisfy you.”
“Seriously?” He gave a bitter little laugh. “How do you think that would play with all the innocent people sitting in jail right now? And why should I believe you if you’re not prepared to believe me?”
“For starters, I’m not under suspicion for a crime of any kind. You, on the other hand, were with the victim when he drowned. That automatically makes you a suspect.”
“In a case that’s already closed.”
“There are no statutes of limitation when it comes to murder,” Rory reminded him. “Look at it this way; whether or not you tell me the whole story, I can still take this evidence to the police and let them decide if they should reopen—”
Zeke thumped her so hard on the shoulder that she almost flew off the couch. Grabbing the edge of the seat cushion, she caught herself before she wound up draped over the table. Brett was looking at her as if he thought this might be another hallucination.
“Back spasm,” Rory said, adding a groan for authenticity. She reached around to massage her back. When it came to acting, she needed all the props and affectations she could come up with.
“Are you okay?” Brett asked, doubt written large on his face.
“I will be.” She went on massaging and wincing at the nonexistent pain a bit longer. For the first time since the marshal had come into her life, she found herself wishing he could read her mind. What she was thinking at that moment might make even a frontiersman like him blush.
“The hell with it,” Brett said. “I can’t stand all these head games. I’m probably making the worst mistake of my life, but I’m going to trust you.”
Rory tried not to show him how surprised she was. “My business depends on my reputation for being trustworthy and discreet,” she said, as if she felt obliged to reassure him that he’d made the right decision. “And I have no intentions of putting that at risk.”
Brett wiped his palms on the thighs of his jeans. “Brian found out I’m gay,” he blurted, as if he were ripping a Band-Aid off a deep wound. “Then he nosed around some more and found out I come from money and have a father who still lives in the Dark Ages.”
Rory didn’t know what to say. But she knew better than to go with a thoughtless platitude or any other inane attempt to make him feel better. At the very least, Brett deserved the dignity of her silence.
“It’s not even that I’d mind giving up the trust
fund,” he went on. “I don’t need a lot of ‘stuff’ to make me happy. I would never have bought this huge house if it had been up to me. But my father insisted I have a place commensurate with his standing in the community.” There was no way to miss the anger and sarcasm that seeped into his words when he spoke about his father. “The only reason the money matters at all to me is what it can do for the shelter animals.”
Rory believed him. She believed him on a gut level. All you had to do was look at the inside of this house to know he was telling the truth about the money. All you had to do was look at how much time and energy, how much of himself he spent on the animals. But, unfortunately, none of it proved he was innocent in Brian’s death. If anything, it was a bright, neon arrow pointing to one hell of a dandy motive.
Chapter 21
“I was just tryin’ to keep you from becomin’ the next corpse,” Zeke said, finally breaking the tense silence that had been building between them as they drove home from Brett’s interview. Until that moment, Rory had been wondering why he was wasting the energy to sit there when he could have simply popped back to the house on his own.
“By launching me off the couch?” she asked. “In case you’ve forgotten, we mere mortals can’t fly.”
“It got away from me.”
“Again.”
“I couldn’t just tap you on the shoulder like I do when I first arrive. It had to be different, stronger. And I had to get your attention fast, because the way you were baitin’ Brett, you were pretty much askin’ to be killed.”
“And yet here I am.”
“That’s because I interrupted and defused the situation,” Zeke said, patently pleased with himself.
Rory decided she was too tired to go a full fifteen rounds with him. “So, you think Brett’s the killer?” she asked in an effort to reboot the conversation.