by Meg Muldoon
“Mrs. Brightman, I don’t know who told you that, but they’ve got other motives,” he said. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Tobias had a troubled past, but there was one thing I knew: he wasn’t any liar. If he saw Rip and Ian arguing, then they were arguing. No question about it. And with Ian being so distinct-looking, odds were against a case of mistaken identity.
Besides, some people were bad liars. Ian was one of them. I could hear the fib in his voice easy enough.
“Ian, the only reason I haven’t gone to Daniel about this is because I think you deserve a chance to explain yourself,” I said, trying to put some iron in my tone to let him know I wasn’t backing down. “For the life of me, I can’t fathom how you even knew Rip, let alone why you’d be arguing with him about money.”
His eyes widened at the mention of money, and I was now convinced that he was lying.
But he kept up the charade.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “Honestly. I didn’t even know who Rip Lawrence was until he was found dead at the brewery. That’s the honest truth, Mrs.—”
“Ian,” I said.
I looked hard at him, meeting his dark eyes with a solid, unflinching stare. It stopped him talking and he tried to give me a hard stare of his own, but it was no match.
He winced and lowered his head.
The game was up. And he knew it.
“Just tell me,” I said. “I won’t judge you.”
“I’m ashamed,” he said after a few moments of silence. “That’s the only word I can think of. Just complete shame.”
His voice had lost its ridged edge, and he sounded much younger than his 19 years.
He looked up at the ceiling.
“I came here to get away from trouble. But there’s something in me that just won’t stop. Something that just… seeks it out. I try, but I can’t control it, Mrs. Brightman. And I finally saw how wrong I was, and I tried to fix things, but it’s all just rolling back on me. Like a feckin’ boulder.”
His voice was on the verge of panic.
“I never meant to hurt anybody,” he said. “I never did. But I know that I’ve done something really horrible. I—”
Just then, the front door of the pie shop let out its little jingle, alerting us that somebody had stepped inside.
Of all the timing.
Tiana was supposed to turn the sign around to ‘Closed.’ But either she hadn’t, or whoever had just walked in couldn’t read.
I looked back at Ian.
“Don’t go anywhere,” I said. “I want to hear everything.”
He nodded, his face darkening. I walked quickly past him and through the swinging doors to the front.
“I’m sorry, but we’re clos—”
I looked up to see several Christmas River police officers standing around the dining room.
“Cinnamon Brightman?”
I swallowed hard.
“Yes,” I said in a raspy, fearful whisper.
“Is an Ian Watters here on the premises?”
“What, uh, … what’s this about?”
“Is he here?”
I was knee deep in quicksand with no hope of breaking free.
“I’ll say it again, Mrs. Brightman. Is Ian Watters here?”
“What—”
“Yes,” a voice said from behind. “Yes, he’s here.”
I turned around.
Ian stood in the doorway. Looking guiltier than a dog who had just nabbed a steak off the grill.
Ian gazed back at me with remorseful eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Brightman.”
Chapter 41
“I was the one who said he ought to come here this summer to get away from Glasgow,” she said, her Scottish accent thicker with panic. “This is all my fault. I was the one who told his mudder I’d watch out for him here and make sure he didn’t get into any more trouble. And now look. Just look what’s happened. My grandson is being questioned by American police in a murder investigation!”
I glanced up at Aileen in the rearview mirror. She sat looking rattled in the backseat of the Escape, clutching onto a balled-up Kleenex like her life depended on it. Next to her, Warren was doing his husbandly duties, consoling his new bride the best that he could.
“Now, darlin,’ I’m sure that it’s just a formality,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulder. “They’re talking to everybody who was there when Rip was shot, isn’t that right, Cin?”
I let out a grunt in agreement, but didn’t meet his eyes in the rearview mirror.
All I had told Warren and Aileen was that Ian had been taken in for questioning by the police. I hadn’t mentioned what Tobias told me, or what Ian was about to tell me before the Christmas River Police Department came storming through my pie shop door looking for him.
I didn’t mention that Ian had done something.
Something… “horrible.”
I knew that some people used that word facetiously, but I wasn’t one of them.
And I had a feeling Ian wasn’t one of them either.
The thought made my stomach turn.
I just couldn’t believe it. Ian… killing Rip Lawrence? What kind of motive would he have? Why would he kill a man he hardly knew?
Additionally, where would Ian have even gotten a gun from?
So much of it didn’t make sense.
Yet what I couldn’t debate or argue with was the look in Ian’s eyes as he admitted to his wrong-doing.
It was a look of unmistakable guilt, sorrow and regret.
Shame, as he’d called it.
“Aileen?” I said, looking up into the mirror. “You just said that you told Ian’s mother that you wouldn’t let him get into any more trouble. What did you mean by more?”
She chewed on her upper lip and looked out the window at the passing trees.
“It’s not important,” she said.
“No, Cinny’s right,” Warren said, studying his wife. “What does that mean?”
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Then she let out a sigh.
“Ian’s a good lad,” she said. “All of you know what a well-mannered youth he is. But he… he got into a sticky wicket once.”
“Like what happened with the owner of that bakery back home?”
She looked at the back of my head in surprise.
“He told you about that?”
“Not exactly,” I said. “But he did mention something about beating up the owner of the place where he used to work.”
Warren raised his eyebrows. Aileen leaned back in her seat, lacing her fingers over her head and looking up at the ceiling of the car.
“It’s not exactly my secret to tell, but since I know Ian considers both you and your grandfather family…”
She took in a deep breath.
“You see, Ian took that job at the bakery last fall to learn the trade,” she said. “And he became… well, he became awfully sweet on the owner’s daughter. Alice was a shy, kind girl. I imagine she talked to him, but every time I came by, she could hardly string two words together, the poor creature.”
For someone like Aileen, who loved the art of chit-chat almost as much as Warren did, I imagined someone who was naturally shy was somebody to be pitied.
I brought the car to a momentary halt as I came to a stop sign.
She sighed heavily.
“So the twos of them were what you folks around here might call an item. And Ian fell very hard for her, he did. Not like a typical lad that age might fall for a girl. He loved her. For months, he was walking on air. You know how he hardly ever smiles now? Well, it wasn’t long ago that he was the happiest-looking young man in all of Glasgow. And it was because of her.”
In the rearview mirror, I saw that Aileen’s face darkened.
“But then one day, I get a call from his mother. And she tells me…,” she trailed off, shaking her head. “She tells me my grandson’s been arrested. I thought he might have g
otten into trouble with some of his friends, as young men are sometimes apt to do. Or perhaps for drinking too much down at the pub. But no. His mother tells me that he’s been arrested for beating Alice’s father to within a half-inch of his life.”
I saw Warren raise his eyebrows in surprise.
“I couldn’t quite believe it. He’s always been such a thoughtful and introspective boy. But then I heard his reasoning for doing what he did. And I tell you, I’d a done it myself if I were in his shoes.”
“Why’d he do it?”
“Well, no one knew it, but the bakery owner had been beating his daughter. Been beating her since she was a girl, right after her mother left. Only Alice did such a good job of covering up the bruises, nobody could tell. Then one day, Ian noticed the bruises beneath the makeup. When he found out how she’d gotten them, he just couldn’t control himself. It infuriated him so. And who could really blame him? The poor girl.”
I felt a twinge in my heart.
That wasn’t what I was expecting to hear.
Not at all.
“What happened to her?” I asked.
“Well, the father didn’t press any charges. I suppose he knew that an investigation any further into the matter could get him into plenty more trouble than he bargained for. As for his daughter…”
Aileen sighed.
“Well, she had a hard time forgiving Ian. After it happened, everybody knew what it had been over. She was embarrassed. And she blamed him for exposing her secret to everybody.”
I bit my lower lip.
I didn’t subscribe to violence of any sort, but it seemed to me that there was something just in what Ian had done.
He’d been trying to protect the girl he loved. And through it, he’d lost her.
I thought back to Ian’s question. The one about believing in forgiveness.
“I wished you’d told me all this sooner, honey,” Warren said.
“What for? There’s nothing anybody can do about it now.”
“No, but I could have said a few helpful words to the young feller, maybe,” he said. “I’ve done a lot of living in my time, you know.”
“No, I don’t know,” she said, a playfulness in her tone. “And frankly, I’m afraid to find out.”
He gave just a hint of a wry smile. But left it at that.
We pulled up into the parking lot of the Christmas River Police Station. I killed the engine and checked my text messages.
There was one from Daniel, saying he’d be meeting us any minute, along with a lawyer.
I glanced at the small ugly beige building and stifled a sigh.
I hoped the Christmas River cops weren’t treating Ian too badly in there.
Chapter 42
It smelled like cigarette ash and stale sweat out back behind the Christmas River Police Department building.
But despite the unpleasant aromas, it was better than being cooped up inside, nervously waiting while Lou Ulrich took his sweet time questioning Aileen’s grandson.
A warm breeze wound its way along the side of the building. I pulled out my ponytail band, closed my eyes, and let it run through my hair for a moment.
It was a hot afternoon – the sky near the horizon was a washed-out shade of white. Cicadas buzzed happily in the distance, and just for a moment, the feel of the day took me to another place and time. Past summers, so long ago. When the days were carefree and the fishing good. When time was always moving too slow. When it felt like I’d never grow up. When things had been easy.
I just hadn’t known how easy at the time.
“Rip Lawrence wasn’t a drug dealer.”
I opened my eyes.
The world, as I now knew it, was all still there. Those innocent days just a faint hologram lost to time.
“He wasn’t?”
Daniel leaned against the brick wall next to me. He was dressed in his Sheriff’s Office uniform and trademark cowboy hat.
“According to our informants in that world, Rip was an unknown.”
“You’re sure?” I said. “I mean, you’re sure that he wasn’t involved somehow and it’s just something the department doesn’t know about?”
“It’s highly unlikely,” he said. “People in that world talk about things like that. And nobody’s been talking about Rip getting murdered. Nobody even knows him.”
I stifled a disappointed sigh.
I’d been hoping Rip’s death was something simple like that. A drug deal gone wrong. Someone killing him out of revenge. A simple open and shut case.
Something that didn’t have anything to do with my grandfather.Or with Ian, for that matter.
But like my gut had been telling me all along, solving Rip’s murder wasn’t going to be that simple.
“What about that business partner of his?”
“Air-tight alibi,” he said. “Mitch Wheaton was in Portland the Fourth of July. About fifteen or so witnesses at a club there backed that up. Owen talked to the guy, too. Mitch said Rip had recently bought out his share of the company. Back Alley was bleeding money fast, and Mitch was pulling up stakes.”
“Couldn’t he have hired somebody to murder Rip?” I said, lifting my eyebrows.
Daniel shrugged.
“He didn’t have much to gain from Rip’s death. There was no life insurance policy. Plus, it seemed like he’d left the company on good terms with Rip.”
“Damn,” I muttered.
That didn’t leave me with too many other theories.
“One interesting thing, though, that Owen told me is that even though Back Alley Brewing was losing money, it didn’t seem to affect Rip’s personal finances much. He had a chunk of change in the bank when he died. It was kind of strange, actually. Going back a couple years, he’d make a lot of small deposits each month. Regular cash deposits, the source of which is still a mystery.”
I felt a twinge of hope.
“Doesn’t that sound sketchy to you, Daniel?”
“He might have had something else going on the side. A guy like Rip’s probably always got something going on the side. Whether or not it had anything to do with his murder remains to be seen. But I’m looking farther into it.”
It wasn’t much to go on, but maybe, just maybe, it was the break they needed in the case.
I rubbed my arms, thinking about why we were out here in back of the police station in the first place.
“Did Lou tell you anything about why they were bringing Ian in for questioning?” I asked.
“He wanted to talk to him about what he saw that night at the pub,” Daniel said.
“That’s all?”
“Well, knowing Lou, I’m sure there was more to it. But he wasn’t going to tell anybody else about it. Let alone, me.”
Daniel stepped closer.
“Does Ian really have anything to worry about?” he said in a low, hushed voice.
I bit my lip.
“He was about ready to tell me something when they came and took him,” I said. “Something about Rip and the day he was murdered.”
Daniel furrowed his brow. Those green eyes of his looked off as he thought it through.
“But how would he even know Rip Lawrence? Ian’s only been here, what, a month? What’s the connection?”
“I’ve been trying to figure that out myself,” I said.
He rubbed his face, in thought for a long moment.
“Have they found the gun yet?” I said.
He shook his head.
“Nope. We’re looking. But so far, nothing’s turned up.”
He looked away again, once again seemingly lost in thought. A momentary silence settled over the conversation.
“What are you thinking?” I finally said.
He shrugged.
“You know, one strange thing Owen told me was that the elf costume Rip was wearing that night? There was a lot of white pet hair on it.”
Christmas River was a pet-friendly enough town. Someone having dog or cat hair on them didn’t seem to be all th
at unusual.
“Why is that so strange?”
“Because Rip didn’t own any pets,” he said.
I crossed my arms, trying to make sense of it.
“Hmm. So let me get this straight. You’re saying Fido was the triggerman?
Daniel shot me a smile.
It was good to see that lightness in him, if only for a split second. Since Rip’s death, he’d been in his non-stop work mode, doing everything he could to clear Warren’s, and now Ian’s, name.
“Maybe it was Tinkerbell the cat,” he said, playing along. “Or, could be the killer had a dog. Could be it distracted Rip while the killer pulled out a gun. Or could be that Rip was seeing somebody with a cat or dog. Or his friend had a dog. Or could be something just as minor and unimportant as that. But the lab’s testing the hair now to see if they can identify which animal it came from, and maybe the breed. It could give us a lead of some sort.”
“But just as easily not.”
He nodded.
“Just as easily not,” he repeated.
I leaned farther against the brick wall, placing my head back on it, enjoying the coolness of it as another hot breeze ran alongside the building.
“At least George Drutman dropped the suit,” I said.
“Now how’d you hear about that?” Daniel said. “I was gonna be the one to break the news.”
“Meredith Drutman came by the shop earlier.”
“She did, did she?” he said, clearly surprised.
“Yeah. I’ve never seen her so humble. She actually apologized. Can you believe that?”
“George taking responsibility and Meredith apologizing? There must be an ice hockey league in hell by now.”
“Not just that. They’ve got competitive figure skating going on down there, too.”
He smirked at my silly follow-up to his joke.
Then he ran a hand through his hair. He let out a breath, and looked off into the distance.
“Listen, Cin,” he said, his tone changing abruptly “I wanted to say I’m sorry about yesterday. When I snapped at you in the office? That wasn’t right.”
I hadn’t had much time to think about our small argument from the day before. But now that he’d brought it up, the memory of the pain he’d caused me with his sharpness came back too.