Single Elimination: A Cozy Mystery (Brenna Battle Book 4)

by Laney Monday

  13

  There was a long pause. I held my breath. Dead? Could Walter really be a killer?

  “No!” Walter said. “No one can find out. It’ll kill his campaign. He deserves better than that. I can’t ruin everything for him on top of everything else.”

  Oh, Walter. What are you up to? I thought. Did Herbert know what he’d done?

  “I don’t know. How can I get away in the middle of his campaign without anybody being suspicious? I never go to Seattle. People are going to ask questions. No, no, don’t come here. It’s a small town. People notice strangers.”

  Another pause. Then, “There’s a judo seminar in Seattle tomorrow. Can you wait until then?”

  Jake’s seminar? That had to be what he was talking about. How did Walter know about that? Had Jake visited the PAL judo class? Would Will have let him? Maybe Will wasn’t there. Maybe he was working, and Jake just dropped by.

  “Okay, I’ll drive up for the seminar, and I’ll meet up with you. The usual. Yes. I’ll have whatever money I can scrape together by then. No, I can’t make that kind of promise. Well, it’s just going to have to be good enough.”

  Will passed the tub of cookie dough to me and I took a spoonful. It was classic, school-fundraiser chocolate chip.

  “So we found the lady with the purse,” Will said.

  “Really? The one I saw coming out of the bathroom at the salmon bake?”

  “Yup.” Will licked his spoon. “Dead end.”

  From his deflated countenance, I guessed that dead end came after quite a bit of effort.

  “Sorry, Will.”

  He shrugged. “So how was the party?”

  I avoided his eyes and shrugged back. The whole way over here from the party, I’d debated whether to tell him what I’d overheard. But if I told him, I’d have to tell him what I was planning to do about it, too. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t tell Will I was considering going to Jake’s seminar. Even being his dummy.

  “Brenna?”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “You seem far away.”

  “It’s the case. You can’t talk to me about what you’re working on, and the murder is what’s on my mind…”

  Will gave me a strange look. “It’s not just the case,” he said slowly.

  “It’s not?” but my own words sounded fake to me, too.

  “Don’t you think I know you well enough by now to tell that there’s something else?”

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t know what to say. I guess it was only a matter of time before Will figured out just how royally screwed up I was. How completely inept at relationships, at love.

  “You say you love me, Brenna, but there’s something you’re keeping from me. Something big.”

  “Look, I just can’t help myself. I have to figure out who did this. I just can’t—”

  “I’m not talking about your snooping.”

  “I prefer ‘sleuthing,’ if you don’t mind.”

  “You’re changing the subject again.” Will tossed his cookie dough spoon on the table. It spun in circles.

  He was mad, and that brought out the snippy in me. I could just hear Blythe saying That’s not a helpful response, Brenna. But in the moment, I didn’t care. I jammed my own spoon in the tub and shoved it aside. “What subject?”

  “Come on, Brenna.”

  “I’m serious! What is the subject? What are you talking about?”

  Will looked me straight in the eye, and I knew exactly where he was going with this. Why did I ask him that? Why? Now there was no escaping.

  “You never talk about the future, when it comes to us. You never even speculate. And that’s fine. It hasn’t been very long. But I can tell that’s not the reason. I can tell there’s something else going on with you. There’s something or someone, in your past, that’s affecting us…that you won’t talk about.”

  Was that true? Was keeping my history with Jake a secret affecting my ability to move forward? Was it part of why I had a hard time believing my relationship with Will would have a long, happy future?

  “I can’t tell you.” My voice sounded small and far away.

  Will slid closer. He took one of my hands in each of his. He looked me in the eye. His eyes were soft and warm. So was his voice. “Brenna, of course you can.”

  I shook my head vigorously, trying to shake myself out of this. “No, I really can’t. I haven’t told Blythe.”

  “Blythe? What does this have to do with your sister?” Will studied my face carefully. I tried to look away, but his eyes wouldn’t let me. They held me captive, imploring. I love you. I need you to tell me the truth, all of it, his look said.

  “Jake?” he said finally.

  The tears came on like a faucet. I’d told him what Jake had done to Blythe. And now he’d seen the rest, written all over my face.

  “Your sister’s husband?” Will’s hands slipped out of mine. He pulled back.

  “No!” I waved my hands frantically. “Not like that. Before they were ever a thing.”

  Will was visibly relieved. He was a man of integrity. He could forgive a lot of things, but I knew that would’ve been the end of us, if I’d fooled around with my sister’s husband. And that was one of the things I loved about Will. Will wasn’t like Jake. He wouldn’t do something like that, and he certainly wouldn’t get serious with a female version of Jerky Jake. There was no way he’d marry someone like that.

  But I wanted him to marry me. Heaven help me, it was true. I wanted to be sitting on the porch swing outside this house, sharing spoonfuls of cookie dough with him when I was eighty years old.

  I had to tell Will everything about Jake. And then I had to tell my sister.

  I shut off my alarm and lay in my plain, twin bed. Just a metal frame and mattress, no headboard. I’d rather die than get up, I thought. That’s how I always felt when I had to get up long before I’d gotten enough sleep. Blythe was in the shower. I could hear the water running and I could smell the coffee. Thank God, she’d made coffee. I talked myself into getting up. I’d come in late. Really late. I’d texted Blythe last night, apologizing, telling her I was at Will’s and that I’d have to tell her how things went at the campaign party in the morning. Now morning was here, far too quickly.

  I shuffled to the kitchen in my oversized T-shirt and my comfy shorts. I poured myself a cup of steaming coffee, then sloshed in some pumpkin spice creamer. Blythe was getting in the mood for Fall already. I clung to my mug of coffee for dear life and sucked in a big gulp.

  And I remembered everything that had transpired last night. The party. The epic talk with Will. Telling him about Jake had taken so much out of me, I’d honestly forgotten to tell him about my plan to go to the seminar. And now how could I, after dumping all that on him? He was sleep-deprived and emotionally exhausted from the murder case already.

  I took my coffee back to the bedroom. Blythe was wrapped in her light, summer robe. The one covered with an ice cream cone pattern. I didn’t have time for a shower, but at least I’d taken one before the party last night.

  I told Blythe about what I’d heard at the party. I didn’t tell her anything about what I’d told Will. I hadn’t gotten to telling Will about Walter’s strange phone call either. I’d genuinely forgotten about it, too, after the tear-drenched ordeal of filling him in on the details about Jake. And now…now it looked like the best way to find out what Walter was up to was to follow his movements in Seattle. To go to Jake’s seminar. What would Will think of that if I told him? Would he try to stop me from going? Would he send a police tail after Walter instead?

  “So, what are you going to do next?”

  “Random is our best hope for Mayor. Whatever’s going on with Walter, it could turn out to have nothing to do with the murder. But if word gets out, it will ruin Herbert’s campaign. I need to find out what it is before I tell the police. Not to mention, they might blow my cover if they decide to bring Walter in for questioning instead of letting him go to Seattle, where I can follow
him.”

  “So…are you going to tell Jake that you’re going?”

  For a second there, I thought she’d asked me if I was going to tell Will. “Tell Jake?”

  “Yes, call him and tell him you’re going to come after all?” Blythe couldn’t help making a disgusted face.

  I laughed. “I couldn’t call Jake and tell him, ‘You know what? I changed my mind. I decided to come up there and be your uke after all!’” Nope. Even if I wanted to serve up my pride, roasted, on a silver platter, he’d insist that we drive up there together. Not happening. Ever.

  “I’ll just show up. Just like anyone else.”

  “And pay him the seminar fee?”

  “No way.”

  “You show up, and he’ll insist on you being his uke.”

  I groaned. She was right. And if I refused, I’d look rude. To a bunch of people in the judo community who didn’t know me yet. People I’d hoped to eventually get to know when my Battlers were ready to compete.

  “You’re going to have to be civil to Jake, you know.”

  “I know.” The thought tasted like cold, stale coffee. Ugh. I took another gulp of my fresh, hot coffee to wash it out.

  “Look on the bright side, Brenna. This way, you get to have some control over their first impression. If he goes without you, he can paint whatever picture he wants of who you are for all those Seattle judo people. ”

  “Unfortunately, it also means their first impression of me is going to be me with Jake.” That was bad in so, so many ways.

  “You know he’s going to talk about you. This way, you’ll know exactly what was said, and you’ll be able to control some of the narrative.”

  “I wonder which of my favorite moves he’s going to teach as though he made them up himself.”

  “I looked it up online. He posted a flier outlining what his seminar covered. It’s not just judo itself. It’s coaching.”

  “Of course. Getting your athlete to the highest level?”

  “Something like that.”

  How about getting your athlete in bed, Jake? How about taking advantage of her weakest moment in her life? The rage was rising. Stop, Brenna. Just stop. I had to be calm. I had to be cool. I had to work Jake and his seminar the way he’d worked me. Well, not quite the same way, but you know what I mean.

  14

  At first, the rain poured over my windshield in a thousand little rivers. Then it kicked into overdrive, a serious, no-holds-barred pounding to end all poundings. It hit the windshield and the hood of the car so hard, it bounced. Maybe it was a sign. I should take the nearest exit and head for home.

  There must’ve been at least four inches of water just sitting on the road, and everyone around me was driving like it was the clearest, sunniest day. Like it was raining daisies instead of blasting water like a firehose. Hey, I was a Washingtonian now. If millions of people could all drive in this, so could I. A semi plowed by me, and a tidal wave of water pushed against my truck. If I’d been driving a little economy car, the force of the water would’ve washed me right off the road. I was starting to have second thoughts about becoming a Washingtonian.

  I barely had a moment to be thankful for four wheel drive when that wave arced right over me. For a terrifying second all I saw was white water. I granny-gripped the steering wheel and prayed for deliverance. There had to be some secret turbo setting for windshield wipers. You know, a Western Washington Whirl-Pool Wash-Out setting. I double-checked that mine were on the highest speed. Yep. The white-out wave was soon replaced by the lesser evil of the downpour. I battled on, plowing straight ahead. Driving in the Emerald City was no joke.

  When my map app told me I’d reached my destination, I let out a deep breath. I’d survived. Hopefully the weather would clear up by the time I had to head home.

  The Budokai judo club was housed in an old wooden building, a historic Japanese Cultural Center. It had a long, rectangular, warehouse look. Spare, with a set of rickety steps leading to the double doors on one end of the building. A few people carrying gym bags hurried through the rain and up those steps.

  The parking lot was already full and I had to park on the street a couple of blocks away. I guess Jake the Snake was pretty popular. I ran for the door with one hand clutching the hood of my raincoat, holding it on against the wind. With my other hand, I clutched the strap of my judo bag, keeping it from sliding off my shoulder. It wasn’t so much that I wanted to be right on time for Jake’s ego-fest; I just had no desire to make a dramatic entrance.

  A long, narrow hallway ran the length of the building. Framed black-and-white pictures of Japanese Americans hung on the walls. It wasn’t hard to find the judo room. The door was wide open, and the familiar sound of ukemi, breakfalls, emanated from inside. Great. They’d already started.

  A tiny area inside the judo room doorway was covered with indoor-outdoor carpet. There was a water cooler there and two curtained-off areas, presumably men’s and women’s changing areas. A few chairs were lined up against the wall. But ninety percent of the long, narrow room was covered, wall-to-wall, with mats.

  Instead of roll-outs, they had the traditional pieces of tatami. Usually these were high tech foam covered in vinyl, just like the roll-outs, but in one-meter by two-meter rectangles, wedged tightly together like a puzzle. Back in the day, those things would’ve been made of tightly woven straw covered with vinyl, and before vinyl, just the woven straw. I’d taken a few falls on straw mats, and it was hardly a pleasant experience.

  I slipped off my shoes and surreptitiously tested the mat with my toes. Thank God, not straw. You never knew in an ancient building like this. I didn’t bother to figure out which changing room was the women’s. I had shorts on under my sweats, so I quickly changed by the matside. To my relief, I spotted Walter doing his breakfalls along with everyone else. At least he hadn’t changed his mind about coming.

  A few of the judoka gave me odd looks as they jogged from the opposite end of the mats, back to the lines Jake had them form to run drills. A couple of teenaged boys, who were also just getting into their gis, glanced at me and whispered to each other. I knew those looks. They recognized me, dang it. It didn’t happen to me when I was around normal people, but the small segment of the population that was serious about judo, that followed the top players, they tended to recognize me from social media, especially when I was wearing my gi.

  So much for blending in, even for a little while. This group was especially likely to know who I was. If they hadn’t known before, the event hype would’ve informed them. There had probably been a lot of searching of my name online. I should’ve known better. These people had all come for a seminar with Brenna Battle’s coach, not with Jake Fletcher. I didn’t want the attention, but something about that made me want to smile. In a way, they were all here for me.

  The boys smiled at me. One of them held a hand up in a self-conscious wave. Oh. I’d really done it. I’d smiled and they’d seen it and thought I was smiling at them. I tried to turn it into a friendly one. The last thing I wanted to look like to a couple of young fans, was smug.

  My smile encouraged the boys enough that they came up to me.

  “Hi. Are you Brenna Battle?” one of the boys said.

  I finished tying my belt. “Yes.”

  The other boy elbowed him. “See? I told you.”

  “Well, I thought she wasn’t going to be here today.”

  “I wasn’t,” I said. “It’s a last minute thing. You boys better hurry and get on the mat.”

  “Okay.” The one who’d greeted me hesitated and turned back to me. “Will you sign my belt? I mean, later?”

  “Sure. After the seminar.”

  “Okay. Thanks!”

  He ran back, and I looked up, right into Jake’s eyes. He stood near the edge of the mat, facing me. I felt my own smile fading as his spread wider.

  “It looks like we have a special guest here today,” Jake announced. He clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. The mat was
still. All eyes were on me.

  No. No, Jake, please. For a second, I found myself pleading with my eyes. Then I remembered who I was, who he was, who he was to me. I put my match face on. Not the old Brenna match face that made my less toughened opponents want to bolt for the doors. A new match face I’d been working on lately. Calm, cool, friendly, but still in charge. Blythe called it Business Brenna. She was helping me perfect it, now that I seldom—okay, never—found myself in an arena where sheer animal intimidation was a major key to success.

  The next thing I knew, I was standing in the middle of the mat with Jake, smiling and greeting everyone. If Jake was going to put me in the spotlight, then I was going to steal his show. And that’s just what I did. I launched into a demonstration of my own version of harai goshi, a powerful throw. Every bit of advice Blythe had ever given me gelled together with the best of my Brenna-ness—the Brenna I’d become with the help of all my little Battlers. It was more of an act, sure. I didn’t know these people and they weren’t my Battlers, who I felt so comfortable with now. I was a little more refined, a little more showy.

  And I hardly let Jake get a word in. Jake could hide his surprise from everyone else, but he couldn’t hide it from me. He eventually stopped trying and just became my dummy. I can’t even describe how satisfying it was to throw his sorry hiney around. Oh, my technique was nice and crisp. I was careful. But I threw him hard enough to make it sting.

  As I helped him up from a fall, Jake whispered, “You’re different. I like it.”

  I resisted the urge to turn surly, just to spite him. I wasn’t going to let him ruin my first impression with these people. That was probably what he was fishing for anyway. I shrugged. “Well, I still don’t like you, Jake.” I gave him a sweet smile.

  “Ouch, Brenna.”

  I turned to the group of sweaty judoka. “Let’s move on to my favorite choke.”