Lethal Affair

by Jean Thomas

  “Who’d want to murder her? And why?”

  Casey’s reply was slow in coming. “Are you sure you don’t already know the answer to that one yourself?”

  She thought about it for a moment. “I suppose you’re referring to Zena’s determination to have a sample of Freedom’s water supply tested.”

  “That would be a logical explanation, wouldn’t it?”

  “Well, I’d judge it to be a primary one, anyway. But I suppose far from conclusive.”

  “Spoken like a true detective,” he said.

  “But, Casey, if that was the motive for her murder, then her intention must have somehow gotten out.”

  “More than that. It reached the ears of the wrong person.”

  She nodded. “Someone who wanted to stop her from sending that sample to a laboratory. And was willing to kill to prevent it.”

  “Which means keeping the content of the water supply a secret is of major importance to him. Or should it be them?”

  Brenna waited, expecting him to use what could be regarded as a perfect opportunity to implicate Marcus Bradley. Or at least suggest him as a person of interest. To her surprise, however, all he had to say was, “But at this point none of it is more than speculation.”

  Casey might not be wondering about Marcus, at least not out loud, but he left her wondering. She made a massive effort, though, to shut that possibility out of her mind. Because to even consider it meant she must acknowledge her association with a man capable of—

  No, she had no solid reason to call Marcus anything but a benefactor.

  Brenna’s resolve failed when it came to the gruesome scene below the waterfalls. It kept replaying in her mind, kept her sorrowfully realizing that a young, vibrant woman would never become the nurse-practitioner who would return to St. Sebastian to help the people of her village. A terrible loss to the community.

  She had worked herself into a state of numb grief when she realized they had reached the coast highway and that Casey was speaking to her.

  “Do you still want to photograph the little church?”

  She shook her head. “Not now.”

  They didn’t talk again until they neared Georgetown, and he pulled over to the side of the highway.

  “I know you’re anything but in the mood for it,” he said, “but I’m going to return both you and your painting gear to the square.”

  “You can’t do that,” she objected. “I need to come with you. The police will want to talk to both of us.”

  “They don’t know you were there at the falls with me, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

  “Because?”

  “What’s the point in involving you when you couldn’t tell them anything I can’t tell them?”

  “Casey, if this is about protecting me—”

  “Not like you imagine. Brenna, think about it. How’s Bradley going to react if he should learn you were with me in the highlands at the scene of a murder?” The look on her face must have told him all he needed to know. “Uh-huh. Trouble. Not that I wouldn’t personally celebrate if he kicked you out, but there’s the commission to consider.”

  He was right. Marcus wouldn’t like it if she was connected with any publicized atrocity that could reflect negatively on him, especially at this sensitive stage of the luxury resort’s construction. He could end up firing her and finding another artist.

  Brenna hated the thought of another fabrication, of having to pretend she’d spent the entire day painting in the square just because of Marcus and the risk of losing the commission. How could she do that to Zena? Logical or not, Brenna did feel she was abandoning Zena by not accompanying Casey to the police station.

  Whatever the moral issues of it, she found herself back in the square. Casey helped her to unload her things and set up her easel. There was a little shop nearby that sold wonderful sandwiches. Brenna was in no mood for food, but Casey insisted they both needed to eat something.

  “I’ll come back for you,” he promised, “but be patient. This could take some time. They could very likely want me to accompany them to the crime scene.”

  It was only after he was gone that she realized he hadn’t told her which police station he was going to, providing there was more than one, and where it was located.

  Chapter 7

  It was the toughest painting Brenna ever undertook. Not because it was any more challenging than scores of others she’d executed. It wasn’t.

  But those canvases had been painted with her full concentration in a positive state of mind. Both were lacking on this occasion. Still, she managed to soldier on, sipping from a bottle of water between strokes of her brush or nibbling on a sandwich.

  The minutes crept by as she worked, her thoughts with Casey. She tried not to wonder what was happening, but she could only achieve that by grieving for Zena. And that was no better.

  Considering her mood, it was ironic the painting was turning out to be one of her best. But as Brenna well knew, you could never predict the outcome of a canvas.

  Her anxiety mounted as the afternoon lengthened. Casey had told her to be patient, but she was finding that increasingly difficult. She thought about phoning him, but as involved as he must be, he wouldn’t have time to talk. Or possibly he wouldn’t be allowed to take her call.

  The day was sweltering. There was no moving air in the closed square. It helped that a straw hat protected her from the blazing sun, but even so, her head began to throb.

  Where are you, Casey?

  Having left her watch back at the guesthouse, she had lost track of the time. She just knew it was taking forever. Bells rang somewhere in a church tower, but she failed to count the hours. It didn’t matter. All she cared about now was getting back to the air-conditioned guesthouse, swallowing a couple of aspirin and stretching out on the bed.

  Sorry to desert you, Casey, but I can’t take any more of this heat.

  Brenna began to pack up. The painting, vivid with color, was finished except for a few details, and those she could handle later in her studio corner in the guesthouse.

  She would need to call Casey before she signaled a taxi. No choice about it this time. He would be deeply concerned if he came back here to find her gone without an explanation. However, when she tried to reach him, his phone went straight to voice mail. She left a message, telling him where she was going and why.

  The young cab driver who stopped for her helped her to hustle her gear into his taxi, assured her he knew exactly where the Bradley villa was and took off at the usual island speed. Which could have had disastrous consequences when, a few minutes later, the cab stopped with such sharp abruptness that Brenna was thrown forward against the belt on the backseat.

  She had closed her eyes, intending to rest until their arrival at the villa, but now they were wide open, and she was bewildered. If there had been a collision, she hadn’t felt it, although they were halted just a few inches behind the vehicle ahead of them.

  Her driver, twisted around in his seat, was eyeing her in concern. “You okay, lady?”

  “Um, yes, I’m fine. But what happened?”

  “Guy ahead o’ us had a fender bender. Now he an’ the fella he hit talk it out.”

  “Oh. Well, can’t we go around them or back up and go another way?”

  “No. Police don’ like that I leave. I must stay right here in case I need to take sides or else I git in big trouble.”

  This was ridiculous, Brenna thought. The drivers here couldn’t go fast enough, and now suddenly they had all the time in the world.

  She glanced out her side window. They were parked where a cross street met this one. At the end of it she could see the incredible blue of the Caribbean, telling her the waterfront was just a block over.

  Brenna suddenly felt the need to be there, out in the open where, with any luck, there would be a refreshing, cooling breeze off the sea.

  Mind made up, she spoke to her driver. “I’m going to get out and walk from here, but as soon as yo
u’re free I’d like you to take my things on to the villa. I may not be there yet when you arrive, but the housekeeper will show you where to put them. One thing, though. The painting here isn’t dry. I want you to be very careful handling it.”

  “Sure ting.”

  “Okay.”

  She paid him the fare, added an extra generous tip and exited the vehicle.

  Brenna already felt better just being out of the taxi and headed toward the waterfront. The street was a short one, the buildings on either side dropping away before she’d walked more than a hundred yards.

  She was in the clear now, the wide Caribbean stretched out in front of her, the air off its expanse so bracing she could feel her headache beginning to dissolve. There was a stone seawall that invited her to perch on it, which she did.

  Brenna was able to relax there for maybe five or so minutes before she remembered what the cabbie had told her about getting in serious trouble with the police if he left the scene of the fender bender, even though he himself hadn’t been involved in the trivial accident. Were the cops on St. Sebastian that harsh?

  It struck her then. Casey. Casey was with the police now. Was it possible they considered him a suspect in Zena’s death? Were they holding him?

  What in the world had she been thinking to take off for the villa, abandoning him without any compunction? She had to go back, find the police station where Casey had gone and, if necessary, speak up in his defense.

  All right, so maybe Marcus would be deeply unhappy with her when he heard. But at this point she no longer cared. Rescuing Casey was all that mattered.

  Brenna was prepared to do just that when she got to her feet, ready to hail the next taxi that came in sight. Before she could do that, her cell chimed.

  Snatching the phone from her purse, she consulted the display, wilting in relief when she saw the call was from Casey.

  “Where are you?” he demanded without greeting when she made the connection.

  “Down at the waterfront by the seawall.”

  “I can’t be more than a couple of blocks away from you. Don’t move. Stay right where you are. I’m coming for you.”

  She didn’t have to wait more than a few minutes before the silver chariot streaked into sight. There was no parking on the seawall side of the street. Casey squeezed into a spot on the other side. Emerging from the Toyota, his stalwart figure came striding toward her.

  He had never looked better to her than he did now. There was no point in denying it, was there? It was getting harder to resist him.

  “What are you doing here on foot? Your message said you were grabbing a taxi to take you back to the villa.”

  Brenna explained the situation. His wide mouth split into a grin when she ended by telling him his call came just when she was ready to head back to the center of town, fearing the police were holding him.

  “You were going to rescue me, were you?”

  “Don’t get all puffed up about it, McBride. I was worried about you, that’s all.”

  “After the afternoon I’ve had, I deserve to be pleased that someone was worried about me.”

  She was right then to think he might be in trouble. “Casey, what happened?”

  He looked around. “Not here. Let’s find somewhere we can sit down and have a cool drink.”

  What they wanted was located several blocks away on the waterfront. The tiny café was currently empty of customers, allowing them to occupy a table on the porch looking out on the sea. They were served two tall, frosted iced teas and then left to themselves.

  After satisfying himself with a long drink of the tea, Casey swiped the back of his hand across his mouth and was ready to talk.

  “They kept me waiting out front. Even though I told the officer at the reception desk I had a serious crime to report, they kept me waiting forever. I could hear them inside, two detectives hammering away at some poor, terrified kid, trying to get him to confess he’d stolen tools from a construction site.”

  The construction site of the luxury resort? Brenna wondered. She remembered Marcus telling her they were having trouble there with thefts. She didn’t tell Casey that. He already had enough negatives against Marcus without adding that to the list.

  “You know what happened when I finally did get their attention? They acted like they didn’t want to know I had a murder to report. That it was a nuisance just to hear about it. These aren’t nice people, Brenna.”

  He didn’t remind her what he’d told her earlier on their way to the meeting with Zena. How Marcus Bradley’s money controlled those in charge on the island. She appreciated his restraint. She was not ready to believe the worst about Marcus.

  Casey paused to swallow more of his drink. Brenna waited for him to go on while sipping her own tea.

  “I told them everything I could,” he continued, “but they weren’t satisfied. Well, I had anticipated that. If you’re a cop and doing your job, then being thorough is one of the first rules.”

  “Did they go up to Braided Falls?”

  “They went, yeah, but reluctantly so I think.”

  “And you went with them?”

  “I did and waited while they examined the scene. I can’t say it was a very scientific examination, but considering this is a small island with limited resources, it would be wrong to expect what we’re used to back home.”

  “Casey, they did retrieve Zena’s body, didn’t they?”

  He nodded soberly. “She’s with their medical examiner right now.”

  “And her family? I hope her family was informed.”

  “One of the detectives went on to the village to tell them and to ask questions. I wanted to go with him, but I was prevented from doing that. I was made to wait with the other detective on the bridge. Brenna, I swear I could hear the howls of shock and grief all the way from Freedom.”

  She could imagine how awful that was. “Casey, did you tell them about Zena’s suspicion where the village water supply is concerned?”

  “That was practically the first thing out of my mouth after I reported her murder. It’s a motive, after all.”

  “And?”

  He made a sound of disgust. “Nothing. They said it would be considered in their investigation, but I could tell they all but dismissed it. They had another suspect in mind.”

  “Who?”

  “Me. They kept taking me over and over the same territory when we got back here to Georgetown. How did I come to know Zena King? Why was I meeting her on the bridge? Had we fought?”

  Brenna almost knocked over her glass in her haste to reach out and cover his hand on the table with her own. “Oh, Casey, I’m such a coward! I let you talk me into not going there with you, but that was wrong. I should have been there right beside you.”

  His fingers curled warmly around hers, sending shivers down her spine. “It wouldn’t have made a difference, Brenna, except maybe to implicate you, and we agreed there was no point in risking that.”

  “All the same...”

  “No, it’s okay. They could have held me, even without any evidence, and maybe they would have done just that if I hadn’t told them at the beginning I was an FBI agent on vacation.”

  “And they could easily verify that, couldn’t they?”

  “They could and did. I don’t know how much that impressed them, but apparently it was enough to let me walk out of there.”

  “Will you have to go back?”

  “Not unless I’m summoned, but I’ll probably stop in anyway to keep us informed on their progress. Not that I’m expecting them to find Zena’s killer. Something tells me his identity is going to remain a closely guarded secret.”

  Brenna waited for him to elaborate on that, but all he did was lift his glass, drain it and ask her if she wanted another one. She shook her head.

  “I should be getting back to the villa. With any luck, the cab driver will have delivered my gear by now. I’d like to check to be sure it’s all there.”

  Casey got to his feet. �
��I’ll take you. Hey, don’t look so panicked. I know better than to drive you straight to your door. I’ll drop you as before at the bottom of the hill.”

  As long and tiring as the day had been, she had no argument against that. They didn’t talk along the way. Actually, it would have been the opportunity for Brenna to ask him why he believed the killer’s identity would be kept a closely guarded secret. Did he think Zena’s murder could be a conspiracy? Something even ordered by a higher-up?

  Without any solid information, however, these were nothing but theories. In any case, before she could ask him anything at all or even decide she wanted to, he stopped to let her out.

  “You know what I’d like to do, don’t you?” he said, his voice low and raspy as he turned to her. “I’d like to turn around and drive you straight back to my place, lock both of us inside, wrap myself securely around you and refuse to let you go.”

  Those wild, jungle-green eyes of his pinned her in his gaze. It was only with an effort that she was able to drop her own gaze from his, and that turned out to be a mistake. Instead of staring at those mesmerizing green eyes, she found herself fascinated by the seductive pulse beating visibly in the hollow of his throat.

  Was there no facet of this man that wasn’t dangerously sexy?

  Her mouth was so dry that when she spoke it was with a croak. “Casey, I have to go.”

  A lie, of course, because for the first time since he’d arrived on St. Sebastian, she had no desire whatsoever to leave him. But unless she escaped...

  To her relief, he didn’t try to stop her. All he said was a very firm “Be safe.”

  “I will,” she promised him, sliding out of the car.

  Brenna’s head was no longer throbbing as she climbed the hill. But other areas of her body definitely were.

  * * *

  Brenna had the day’s painting up on her easel and was putting the finishing touches to it when the phone rang.

  Phone?

  But that wasn’t the sound of her cell. What in the—

  It took several more rings and a moment of bewilderment before she realized this phone was mounted on the wall just inside the front door of the guesthouse. She was a little breathless by the time she reached it.