To Love and to Perish

by Lisa Bork

  “I do. Can a dark-haired woman and a redhead make a blond?” I looked to Catherine for an answer.

  She made a face. “I’ve had to research questions like that before for cases involving proving parentage. Genetics for hair color are not as firm as eye color. It has to do with the amount of color in the hair as well as the two alleles each parent passes on. It’s certainly possible, but I would expect some red tints to the blond hair. How blond is Matthew?”

  “Very. Like white blond.”

  Catherine reached for the yearbook and returned to Monica Gleason’s photo. “It’s a black and white photo. Hard to say how blond she was.”

  “She was very blond. Like white blond, too. We saw the two- by-three color photo of her. It was in Brennan’s yearbook, remember Cory?”

  He nodded. “She was pure blond.”

  I tapped the yearbook cover. “So was Wayne Engle. He and Monica had a relationship after high school. Maybe Matthew resulted. Maybe he was the cause of the argument at the reunion. Maybe Wayne hadn’t stepped up to his responsibilities. That wouldn’t go over well with Brennan, would it, Cory?”

  Cory thought for a moment before answering. “He takes the law and business ethics very seriously. That’s why he hates the rumor about what he’s hiding in his foundations. He doesn’t like any hint of irresponsibility. He conducts his personal life the same way.”

  “Interesting theory.” Catherine made a note. “We’ll confirm Matthew’s parentage. Maybe Wayne Engle was named his godfather for that reason. Matthew might have pushed him in front of the car because he was angry not to be recognized as his child. We’ll consider the possibility.”

  I wondered if Catherine knew more about the investigation than us. Perhaps the sheriff’s department had improved the resolution enough on the YouTube video to recognize him. “Do you know for a fact that Matthew was close enough to the scene to do that?”

  She shook her head. “It’s still early in the investigation. The sheriff’s department is keeping anything they find out very tight to the vest. That’s why I need to send my own investigator. I’m just surmising from the questions they asked Brennan.”

  And she’d surmised Matthew was a suspect, which made sense. He certainly hadn’t seemed too upset by the loss of his father.

  She turned to a fresh sheet of paper. “All right, I have some questions for you two. First, I want to know everything that happened while you were in Albany and Binghamton.”

  Cory and I retold the story together as a tag team, filling in each other’s pauses. Catherine asked a few questions but mostly just let us ramble along uninterrupted.

  When we finished, Catherine wrote for a few minutes, then she scanned pages of notes she must have written on a previous day. “Are you sure Matthew Gleason said he met Brennan once?”

  Cory and I glanced at each other to confirm. I nodded slowly. “Positive.”

  She made another note. I read it upside down. It said, “Get a picture of Matthew Gleason to show Brennan.”

  I shifted my gaze to Cory, who seemed to be reading the same line. His eyes met mine. He opened his mouth first. “Brennan doesn’t know Matthew?”

  Catherine closed her notebook and gave Cory a sympathetic glance. “I know it seems unfair, but I can’t tell you anything Brennan said to me. At this point, I don’t recommend you ask him questions, either. I know he calls you, but you don’t want to know anything about this case. You could end up being called to testify against him. You don’t want that, do you?”

  Cory swallowed. “Definitely not. Jolene and I wondered if we caused Wayne Engle’s death by asking as many questions as we did. We wanted to help Brennan, not hurt anyone.”

  Catherine pulled her briefcase onto her lap and tucked her notebook and pen away inside. “If it’s any consolation, I think you helped his first case. No way will any judge or jury believe Elizabeth Smith’s testimony against him. She’s too suspect herself. I don’t even know if the DA will take it to trial once he understands all the relationships involved. We might never have uncovered them all if you hadn’t asked questions. Brennan could have sat in the courtroom and watched Elizabeth testify, never realizing who she was. It’s been years since they’ve seen each other, and she’s a new woman.”

  I took some comfort in Catherine’s words, but not enough to erase the guilt of possibly contributing to a man’s death. Cory and I would carry that with us for a long time to come.

  Catherine snapped me out of my reverie. “Jolene, Danny’s father was arraigned this morning. He pleaded not guilty. His bail was set at five thousand dollars. He had two hundred in his pocket when he was arrested. He said he doesn’t have access to more money, so he’ll have to stay in jail. I got the earliest court date possible, a month from now. I may have questions for you later on regarding his case as well, but right now I have to focus on Brennan.”

  Catherine placed her briefcase on the table and stood, smoothing the wrinkles from her navy skirt. Once again today, she wore a stunning suit with matching heels, and I had to admire her sense of style. Sadly, I purchased all my style at Talbots, under Celeste’s direction, another reason for our love-hate relationship. Catherine seemed to come by all her style naturally, as well as her talent and good looks. Everything about her said “Winner,” and I had no real concerns for Brennan’s future now that it rested in her capable hands.

  I said as much to Cory after she left.

  He hung his head dejectedly. “I went to Brennan’s arraignment this morning. She got bail set for him, but he doesn’t have any more money. He wouldn’t take any from me, not that I have enough savings anyway. He just kept telling me not to worry. He’s banking on Catherine to win, too.”

  “Maybe with Catherine’s investigator and the sheriff’s department asking questions now, Brennan will be cleared quickly. I think Elizabeth Potter makes a great suspect. She may have pushed James Gleason and tried to blame Brennan. Maybe Wayne figured that out and called her on it. Maybe he even saw her do it and that’s why he’s dead.”

  “But why would she want to kill James Gleason?”

  “I can only guess. Something to do with Monica or the accident? I don’t know.” And I hated that I didn’t, because I felt like I should. One of the people Cory and I had met was a killer.

  “We’ll go crazy speculating. I’ll have to have faith in the investigators and Catherine for now.” Cory straightened in his chair. “Listen, I saw Mr. Phillips’ arraignment, too. I started to call you, but then I realized Ray was there. Did he call you?”

  “No. We’re all barely speaking in our house. Danny’s heartbroken over his father’s arrest and what he sees as Ray’s betrayal. Ray’s defensive, and I’m caught in the middle and, quite honestly, sympathetic to Danny, which only makes Ray more cantankerous. I came to work today to try to keep my mind off it all.”

  “Sorry I brought it up.” Cory stood and stretched. “You want to get some lunch?”

  “Sure.” Maybe lunch would take my mind off Danny, Ray, and his father. I doubted it, because now all I could think about was whether or not we should pay for Mr. Phillips’ bail. Would Danny expect us to? After all, I’d promised more than once to help his dad. If we didn’t pay his bail, Danny would be visiting him in jail, a place a kid should never have to go, then possibly in prison afterward, a place no one ever wanted to go. If we did pay his bail, Mr. Phillips would most likely jump to avoid prison, perhaps taking Danny with him back into a life no child should lead. Of course, it was possible Mr. Phillips would want Danny to remain with us, but given the current tensions between Danny and Ray, Danny might not want to stay. Would Mr. Phillips yield to pressure from Danny? And why hadn’t Ray called me after Mr. Phillips arraignment? Was he surprised to see Catherine representing him? He must have known I would call her. She represented him the last time Ray arrested him in Wachobe. She got him off, too.

  Then it hit me. As the arresting officer, Ray knew Mr. Phillips’ arraignment was this morning. He knew the judge would s
et bail for Mr. Phillips, yet he told Danny he would take him to see his father after practice today. So clearly Ray knew Mr. Phillips wouldn’t be able to make bail and had no intentions of paying it himself.

  And he probably wouldn’t want me to, either.

  TWENTY-THREE

  I HAD SPAGHETTI SAUCE and pasta bubbling on the stove around seven o’clock, expecting Danny and Ray to walk through the door at any moment after Danny’s visit with Mr. Phillips. As I ran a knife through a loaf of Italian bread, the phone rang. Hoping to hear Ray’s voice, I tucked the phone under my chin and kept on slicing.

  It was Erica. “We’re going to the funeral.”

  “What funeral?”

  “Wayne Engles.’”

  I nicked my finger with the knife. A drop of blood blossomed on its tip. I grabbed a paper towel to wrap around it. “Why?”

  “Maury and I found his body. We feel responsible for him. Maury’s going to bring a huge bouquet of roses. It’s good karma to see him to rest.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “What’s wrong with roses?”

  “Nothing.” Except Maury’s obsession with them, that is. I’d thought it only extended itself to presents for women, but apparently in his book, roses were appropriate for every occasion. “It’s not the roses. Wayne Engle was murdered, Erica, most likely by someone he knows well. His killer might be at the funeral. You and Maury don’t need to be rubbing elbows with a killer.”

  “We’ll be rubbing elbows with the same people you and Cory met. Maybe a few more. You two are safe enough. I’m sure we will be, too.”

  I couldn’t think of a response to that. Instead, I tried a diversionary tactic. “How do you know when his funeral is anyway? Maybe it’s for family only.”

  “It’s Wednesday morning at ten. The medical examiner released his body today, and his office released a statement regarding the funeral. It’s open to anyone. He didn’t have any immediate family. Isn’t that sad?”

  He had a godson, Matthew Gleason, who might be a suspect in his murder. I refrained from sharing that information with Erica. It would be just like her to go to the funeral and sidle up to him first.

  “Besides, isn’t Ray going to attend? He was the first one to respond to the scene.”

  I really didn’t want to get into the fact that Ray wasn’t assigned to the case. “Erica, I just don’t think you guys should go.”

  “Mom does. And last time I listened to you instead of her, and look what happened.”

  Mom trumped me again. Pretty good for a ghost, not that I believed in ghosts. “Okay, well, keep your eyes open.” And your mouth shut. Not likely, knowing Erica.

  “I will. I’m planning to get the names of everyone who attends.”

  She hung up before I could ask her how she intended to do that. Did I really want to know?

  I went toward the guest bathroom, looking for a bandage to cover the prick in my finger. The front door opened as I passed through the living room. Danny burst through it, tossed his fleece on a wall hook, and slouched past me with his backpack in hand.

  “Hi, Danny. How was your day?”

  He grunted. His bedroom door closed in my face.

  Ray came in and stopped when he saw me in the middle of the room. “Where’s Danny?”

  “In his room.”

  “Tell him to get out here and set the table. He needs to learn what it means to have responsibility and work for a living.” Ray passed me and disappeared into the kitchen. I heard the refrigerator door open and close, then the top pop off a beer bottle.

  I decided to continue into the bath and bandage my finger, hoping they’d both settle down with some breathing room. When I returned to the kitchen, Ray occupied one of the breakfast bar stools, his elbows on the bar, head cupped in his hands. His beer sat untouched in front of him.

  I rubbed my hand over his back. For years, I’d rubbed this man’s back almost every night. He was obviously upset and didn’t know what to do. “What happened when Danny saw his father?”

  Ray lifted his head from his hands and took a long pull on his beer. “I don’t know. He won’t tell me.”

  “Oh.” I massaged his shoulders with both hands, feeling the knots of tension.

  “He did ask me if we would pay his father’s bail.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I asked him if his father put him up to asking me for the money.”

  “And?”

  “He said ‘no.’ Then he told me he hated me.”

  “Who hates you? Mr. Phillips?”

  “Danny.”

  I let go of Ray’s shoulders and headed over to stir the pots on the stove. “You’ve heard that before. We both have. He doesn’t mean it.”

  Erica used to tell me all the time that she hated me, especially after I’d driven off one of the guys she rutted with on the couch or after I’d refused to give her money. No parent ever got through a kid’s life without hearing it at least once or twice. Ray’s brother said it to him a million times. I’d have thought he’d be insulated from the sting of the words by now. Ray must care more about Danny than Sean. Of course, Sean was his younger brother, not his child. Their mother made all the final decisions for Sean.

  Ray slid off the stool. “I’m going to get changed. Tell Danny to set the table.”

  I resented being ordered about, as I was sure Danny would, too. Ray always got very drill sergeant-like when upset. It was his defense mechanism, but I didn’t welcome or enjoy it. I liked to make my own decisions. But I’d overlook his behavior for now.

  Danny didn’t reply when I knocked on his door. I opened it and entered his room anyway. He lay on the bed, hands clasped behind his head.

  I sat on the edge of his bed. “How’s your dad?”

  “Okay.”

  “Did you talk for a long time?”

  “Not really. He said Catherine Thomas is his lawyer. He said to thank you for calling her.”

  “No problem. She was happy to do it.”

  “My dad’s sharing a cell with Brennan in the regular jail.”

  Then they’d been moved out of holding cells after their arraignments and into the mass population, which consisted of many others from all over awaiting trial.

  “Is that a problem?” I knew it might be. Danny had parroted Mr. Phillips’ prejudices when he came to live with us. Cory had to win Danny’s friendship. Everyone loved Cory, but Brennan and Mr. Phillips in the same cell might be awkward at best.

  “No. He knows Cory and Brennan are my friends. Brennan knows he’s my dad, too.”

  I nodded. “What else did your dad say?”

  “He said Brennan talks in his sleep. He has nightmares and wakes up screaming.”

  “How awful. Does your dad understand anything he says?”

  “Yeah, he talks about a baby and the deer and his dad and he screams a girl’s name, Monica. Isn’t that the girl who died in the car crash?”

  “Yes, it is.” I didn’t know what to make of Brennan’s dream. Could his hidden memories be coming back to him in his sleep? Perhaps our theory about Monica, Wayne Engle, and Matthew was correct. The deer were new. Maybe one had ventured into the road in front of them, causing the crash? It was hard to go very far on the country roads around here without seeing deer. I wondered if the reunion had been out in the countryside near Albany. Surely the crash had been if it took so long for another car to come by and find them. “Anything else?”

  “My dad told Brennan what he says in his sleep. He said Brennan doesn’t remember, but he can tell Brennan knows he wakes up screaming and all sweaty and feeling scared.”

  “That’s too bad. He’s under a lot of pressure right now. It probably affects his sleep.” I wondered if Brennan needed a psychiatrist and if he’d gotten any counseling after the crash all those years ago. Killing a woman, especially one he cared about, and seriously injuring another, even if by accident, was a heavy burden to carry through life. It seemed like it was all c
oming to rain on him now.

  “Yeah.” Danny didn’t seem to want to talk about it any further.

  “Listen, can you set the table? Dinner’s almost ready. We’re having spaghetti and meatballs.”

  “Okay.” Danny rolled off the bed and followed me into the kitchen where Ray had finished slicing the loaf of bread. He put it on the table and watched as Danny pulled dishes from the cupboard for the table. His intent gaze made Danny uncomfortable. I could tell by the way he kept his eyes averted from Ray. When everything was set, I dished up the spaghetti and placed it on the table along with a tossed salad.

  Ray and Danny ate in silence. I tried to start a conversation a couple times, but they kept their answers to a minimum, effectively dissuading me from trying again. My bread felt like chalk in my mouth; the spaghetti repulsed me. The only thing I felt like cutting with my knife was the tension in the room.

  After dinner, Ray made Danny wash the dishes. When Danny clattered the pots in the sink rebelliously, Ray lit into him, lecturing him on attitude, which only made Danny’s mood just that much worse. By eight o’clock, Danny had disappeared into his room and closed the door. I hoped he was doing his homework but chose not to ask.

  Tuesday morning was a repeat of Monday night. No conversation at the table. Danny scraped his dishes loudly, expressing his underlying hostility toward Ray, who responded defensively with more lectures, which only made Danny slam the door on the way out of the house. I couldn’t wait to escape to work, where I shared my troubles with Cory, including what Danny learned from his father.

  I felt better. But Cory exhibited some strain of his own later in the day.

  “Have you seen my metric wrench set?”

  My fingers stopped moving over the adding machine keys long enough for me to look Cory in the eye, conveying the ridiculousness of the question. I never touched his stuff. “No.”

  He cast his gaze about my office as though he didn’t believe me. Absurd. I even had my own screwdriver to take plates on and off cars. We had a division of labor, and my labor never required his tools.