Broken Vows Mystery 04-To Love and to Perish

by Lisa Bork

  “Can you ask Catherine Thomas?”

  Shocked, I almost dropped his plate on the floor. “How do you know about her?”

  “Ray talks about her. He says she’s a great attorney.”

  Once again, I tried not to let the little green monster eat at me. And once again, I failed. “She is a great attorney. I will call her. I promise. Now go brush your teeth.”

  I loaded the dishwasher and met Danny at the front door. He had his backpack in hand. I leaned in to kiss his cheek. Then I opened the door as the school bus puffed to a halt at the curb.

  Normally, Danny would bolt out the door and onto the bus. This morning, he hesitated. “Jolene, do you think the guys on the team saw Ray arrest my dad?”

  My heart broke. Poor kid, he must be embarrassed. Humiliated. “I don’t think so. The other team was pushing hard to score. I’m sure they all were watching the end of the game.”

  “But they saw me run off.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. My eyes had been glued to his disappearing back. I didn’t know what everyone else saw. “I think they were too busy celebrating the win. Maybe they figured you had to leave early.”

  The bus driver tooted his horn.

  I waved to him, hoping he wouldn’t pull away. “You have to go now, Danny. Everything will be all right. Don’t worry.”

  He nodded, shouldered his backpack, and ran out the door. But for the first time ever, he failed to wave to me as the bus pulled away. I preferred to think he just forgot.

  _____

  With nothing to do at home but worry, I decided to go to work, even though on Mondays Asdale Auto Imports was traditionally closed. I’d wear my jeans instead of a business suit and get a little cleaning done. Although my customers were the most meticulous people—as evidenced by the perfect condition of their precious cars—dust did build up in the corners of the showroom from time to time. Today was a perfect day to make it disappear.

  Driving to work didn’t keep me from worrying about the strain on Ray and Danny’s relationship, not to mention Ray’s and mine. Or the fact I now knew and cared about two people in the Wachobe County Jail, an all-time record which gave me acid indigestion. It also didn’t help that all the questions I’d asked of Brennan’s old friends had been a catalyst for murder and his subsequent incarceration or that the loss of my Ferrari had led to Mr. Phillips’ arrest. Everyone I cared about was hurting, including me. Worse, I knew I’d met a murderer—and it wasn’t Brennan Rowe. If only I knew who it was.

  After unlocking the door and turning off the showroom alarm, I sat behind my laminated wood desk and dialed Catherine Thomas’ cell phone, determined to take action where I could.

  She answered on the first ring. “Jolene, I was going to call you today.”

  “Were you? I must be psychic.” I tried for levity but fell short.

  “I want to talk to you and Cory. I hired an investigator who’s going to retrace your steps, and I wanted to get as much information in advance as I can before sending him to Albany and Binghamton.”

  Her investigator would be the third round of questions for all these people, after ours and the police’s today. I doubted the investigator would get very far. “Sure, no problem, do you want us to come to you?”

  “I’m on my way over to Wachobe. I’m due in court this morning for Brennan’s arraignment. I can stop by your home or office afterward, around eleven o’clock.”

  I wondered if she’d be able to get Brennan out on bail but decided not to ask. She’d let us know when we saw her, no doubt. “Okay, I’ll call Cory. Why don’t you meet us at the shop?” I spoke quickly. “But I need to ask you one more thing before you hang up.”

  “Yes?”

  “Can you handle another client?”

  “Depends, who’s the client?”

  “Danny’s father, Mr. Phillips. Ray arrested him yesterday at Danny’s football game.”

  Catherine’s gasp made the phone lines crackle. “At the game? In front of Danny?”

  I explained the whole situation to Catherine, relieved I wasn’t the only one who found Ray’s action upsetting.

  “So you think Mr. Phillips stole the Ferrari and sold it for Danny’s college fund? What proof do you have that he took it?”

  Here was the difficult part. “I think Danny gave his father the alarm code for my shop. I know he saw me punch it in several times. I never thought to hide it from him, but when the Ferrari disappeared, I realized Danny must have given it to him.”

  “He’ll never admit it.”

  “Not now, that’s for sure.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Just twelve.”

  “Does Ray know?”

  “I’m sure he guessed. He put Mr. Phillips at the top of the suspect list.”

  “How many other known car thieves were visiting Wachobe at that time?”

  “None that I know of.”

  Catherine was silent so long I thought she’d hung up. Then she spoke. “I don’t think even Ray would expect Danny to testify against his father. I’ll take the case pro bono. You and I never had this conversation about Danny and the alarm code.”

  This time I knew she hung up. I hit the “end” button on my cell, hoping she was right about Ray.

  Then I dialed Cory’s number. He agreed to meet Catherine and me at the shop at eleven.

  With an hour and a half to kill, I wandered into the showroom, intent on dusting and mopping and maybe even cleaning the windows.

  I pulled the mop bucket from the closet and headed into the garage to fill it at the sink. With the bucket in one hand and the mop in the other, I moved to the front of the showroom and commenced work.

  I hadn’t mopped more than a few square feet when I looked out the window and saw Celeste Martin crossing the street. Or should I say, stopping traffic?

  As she sashayed across Main Street, Celeste held her hand out toward oncoming cars like Danny did on the football field to ward off a tackle. It worked better for her. The cars all stopped, even though Celeste not only jaywalked but jaywalked in a diagonal direction from the Talbots store she managed right toward the door to my shop.

  “No, no, no.” I wondered if I could run to the door and lock it in time. Could she see me through the tinted showroom window? Celeste was a champion gossip and the root of our town’s grapevine. I didn’t think I had the strength for her today.

  I was still thinking about hiding when the bells on the entry tinkled and she sailed into the showroom, not a hair out of place on her perfectly coifed blond—though not naturally blond—head. “Jolene, you poor thing.”

  “What?” I resisted the urge to ward her off with my mop, choosing to lean on it instead.

  “I heard about Brennan’s arrest. Cory must be beside himself. Is he here?” She cast her glance about in such a showy manner that I knew she knew he wasn’t. “I just wanted to lend my moral support. I certainly don’t think Brennan killed anyone. He has a lot of skeletons in his closet but not real ones.” She held her hands clasped in front of her like a schoolgirl, a perfectly accessorized schoolgirl with a size two figure and a pricey wardrobe from Talbots, where she was the manager.

  That old assertion about Brennan again. “Cory’s not here.” But I wished he was.

  “No, of course not, it’s Monday. Why are you here?”

  Perhaps the real reason Celeste had crossed the street. Asdale Auto Imports hadn’t been open on a Monday since my father passed away almost six years ago. It was a serious break in the routine. Celeste followed everyone’s routine.

  I waved my hand over the floor. “Just catching up on some mopping.”

  Celeste nodded. “I noticed you had the shop closed several days last week. Is everything all right?”

  “It’s fine.” I didn’t elaborate, hoping she’d take the hint and leave.

  No such luck. Instead, she seemed to hunker down a bit, leaning against the Austin Healey. “How’s Danny?”

  “Fine, thanks.”

/>   “Really? I heard Ray arrested his father at the football game yesterday. Danny must be very concerned.”

  My mouth went dry. Trust Celeste to know all the gossip. I could only hope she hadn’t heard it from one of Danny’s teammates’ parents. Would the arrest be the talk of Danny’s school today, too? “Where’d you hear that?”

  “One of my friend’s sons works at the jail.”

  I nodded to acknowledge her statement, relieved Danny’s friends might not be aware.

  “How’s Danny taking it?”

  “He’ll be fine. Everybody will be fine.”

  “You have a very positive attitude, Jolene. I’ve always admired that about you.”

  I blinked, uncertain if she spoke in jest and wondering what would come next. She was priming me for something.

  “Well, I just wanted to offer my support.” Celeste started to back toward the door. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help Brennan or Danny’s father. I think of you all like family.”

  Perhaps that was because she had dated my father once, unbeknown to me. Never mind their twenty-plus-year age gap. Maybe just once she wasn’t here to fish for information. “You know, Celeste, I do have one question for you.”

  She stopped and smiled. “Yes?”

  “That rumor about skeletons in Brennan’s closet? Or what he’s been hiding in the foundations of his buildings all these years. How did those get started? Where did they come from?”

  “Oh. Let me think.” Celeste closed her eyelids. I could almost see her move from one stop along the grapevine to the next like a ball in a pinball machine. Ding, ding, ding. Hit the paddle, keep the story going. Celeste’s friends and family connections were unparalleled. Church, exercise class, the merchants association, book club, volunteer work: all excellent places to cull information. She could look through a window anywhere in this town and know exactly who lived in the house, maybe even the remaining balance on their mortgage and the last time they went to church.

  I waited patiently.

  Her eyelids flew open. “I started it.”

  My jaw dropped.

  Celeste waved her hand. “I know it’s hard to believe. But I think I did.”

  Not hard to believe, just hard to believe she’d admit it. I recovered. “How?”

  “As soon as Brennan moved to Wachobe, he opened a bank account at the bank where my cousin’s niece works. He wrote a check for cash every month for five thousand dollars.” Celeste bugged her eyes to emphasize the amount and the oddity.

  I arranged my expression to surprised and shocked, since that seemed to be the reaction she sought.

  “Then he went to the grocery store with the cash. My friend at church manages the store.”

  I knew that. I nodded.

  Celeste seemed annoyed, as though she could tell I already knew this part. “Where he would ask for a five thousand dollar money order, which he put in an envelope and mailed.”

  Now I gave her the jerk of surprise she’d been waiting for, and she preened. “Do you know who he mailed it to?”

  Celeste pursed her lips and rolled her eyes skyward. “I don’t recall the name, but it went to an Albany address.”

  “To the Potters?”

  Her gaze shot to me. “Yes!” Celeste jumped up and down like a contestant on a quiz show. “To a William Potter.”

  I knew the answer but asked the question anyway. “Does Brennan still mail the money?”

  “He stopped over a year ago.”

  “Do you know why?”

  Her face dropped. “No.”

  Finally, something I knew that she didn’t. Brennan helped pay off Elizabeth Potter’s hospital bills, just like he said. Perhaps the sheriff’s department could obtain the financial records to confirm it.

  “But how did the rumor about Brennan burying stuff in his foundations get started?”

  Celeste had the good grace to look ashamed. “I said the payment looked like he had a skeleton in his closet. Then the next time I heard it, it was that he had hidden something in the foundation of his building. You know, people never repeat things exactly the way you say them.” She sniffed.

  How true, not that Celeste ever worried about the truth. Like all gossips, her interest lay in the titillation, not the truth. But apparently she liked to be quoted accurately. Go figure.

  I took the high road. “Thank you for sharing that story with me, Celeste. You may very well have helped Brennan.”

  “Wonderful!” She stepped closer to me. “I do have one question for you, though.”

  Ah, she’d been priming me all along. “Okay.”

  “Was Brennan really having an affair with the dead guy, Wayne Engle?”

  TWENTY-TWO

  BY THE TIME CORY and Catherine walked through the door to the showroom together at ten fifty-eight, I had considered and dismissed the theory Celeste presented dozens of times. She said it was the latest rumor around town—and not one of her own making. The source, she believed, was the wife of someone who worked at the sheriff’s office. At first, she thought that might be me. After I ridiculed the rumor, she reconsidered. In fact, she stormed off in a huff, bringing the traffic on Main Street to a screeching halt as she headed back to Talbots in time to unlock the door for business.

  Cory also laughed off the rumor as the three of us sat around the conference table in the showroom an hour later. “No way. Take it from me, Wayne Engle was not gay. He was a ladies’ man. Didn’t you see those women working in his office? They told his story.”

  Catherine opened a leather binder and ran her pen down a list of names. “Funny you should say that. I’ve got their names right here: Pam Sullivan, Missy Temple, Silvia Porter, and Elizabeth, or Beth as she prefers, Smith. Anyone want to guess who Elizabeth Smith is?”

  Cory and I exchanged puzzled glances. “We met an Elizabeth Potter.” A vision of her climbing out of her Honda Accord in her driveway flashed before me, followed by a memory of the same color Accord in the parking lot at Wayne Engle’s office. I recalled Mrs. Potter saying that her daughter had been married and divorced twice. “Are they the same woman?”

  Catherine nodded. “It gets better. Guess the name of the witness who claimed Brennan pushed James Gleason into the street at the festival.”

  I gasped.

  After a moment, Cory responded, “Elizabeth Smith?”

  “That’s right. And even though both the surname and the last name are quite common, I confirmed it’s the same woman. She really gets around.”

  Cory frowned in my direction. “How come you didn’t recognize her?”

  I remembered Evie’s comments about Elizabeth Smith’s new hair. “She had a new hairdo, and to be perfectly honest, I didn’t look at her all that carefully on the day Gleason died.” Some detective I made. Ray had been right all along to dismiss my investigative efforts. “So she was blackmailing Brennan, and Wayne knew about it.”

  Catherine tapped her pen on the paper in front of her. “Are you referring to the five thousand dollar monthly payments to her father?”

  “Yes. She must have known something Brennan didn’t want anyone to know—like the fact he was drinking the night Monica Gleason died. No wonder both Wayne and Elizabeth denied it. Wayne probably got a cut of the money.”

  “Actually, Jolene, I spoke to Mr. Potter last night. He claimed Elizabeth didn’t know anything about the payments. Brennan arranged to help pay her medical bills years ago. Mr. Potter didn’t like accepting what he referred to as ‘charity’, but Brennan insisted. Only her father and mother knew where the money came from to pay off all her bills. They didn’t tell Elizabeth.”

  Cory leaned forward to rest his forearms on the table. “Okay, but why didn’t Brennan recognize her? She stood right next to him and pointed her finger in his face.”

  Catherine reached down into her briefcase, which was on the floor beside her chair, and pulled out a book. “She went through the windshield of the car and needed reconstructive surgery on her face: her n
ose, her eyelids, her cheekbones. She’s not the same girl she was in high school.” Catherine laid the book on the table. It was another yearbook from Brennan’s graduation class, but this one had an unfamiliar girl’s name embossed on it. She flipped through the pages until she came to Elizabeth Potter’s photo.

  I recalled Elizabeth’s mother’s very similar words to Cory and me. “Where did you get this yearbook?”

  “I graduated from Albany Law School. It’s a world-renowned school. The partners recruit from there all the time. One of our associates was born and raised in Albany. She attended the same high school as Brennan and was in her freshman year when he graduated. She wanted to help with his first case. She brought in her yearbook so I could see the two other people who were in the car crash with Brennan. Now she’s helping with both cases.”

  Cory held out his hand for the yearbook. “May I see it?”

  Catherine handed it over.

  He turned the pages until he found Monica Gleason’s photo. He studied it a moment, then spun the yearbook to face me. “Jo, look hard at her. Who does she look like that we met?”

  I studied the blond hair, the sparkling eyes and the dimples. It was the dimples that reminded me. “Matthew Gleason.”

  “Exactly.”

  Catherine glanced back and forth between us. “She was his aunt. It’s not surprising he would look like her. They share a gene pool.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “I wish we had met or at least seen his mother. He doesn’t look anything like I remember his father. He had red hair and different features.”

  Cory snapped his fingers. “We saw her picture at their home. He doesn’t look anything like the woman in the picture. She had dark-hair and glasses, remember, Jo?”

  “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?”