Sealed with a Kill (10 page)

 

It took Brenna the better part of an hour to get dressed. Having never been a divorcée or attended a shindig at the Morse Point Country Club, she was flying blind, with only Tenley’s suggestion to “dress trampy” to go by.

She did her best with what she had, and judging by Tenley’s reaction when she saw her, she had nailed it.

“Very nice,” Tenley said when Brenna answered the door at her knock. “Where did you pick that up? Hos R Us?”

“You said trampy,” Brenna chided her. “Is this not the definition of working it?”

Tenley examined Brenna’s tiger-print micromini, black stilettos, and clingy black top. “Your mother would have a stroke. Hey, wasn’t that skirt part of your Halloween costume last year?”

“Yep, nice to get another wear out of it. Now let’s see what you’re wearing.”

Tenley shed her coat and performed a slow spin.

Brenna laughed and said, “And you said
I
look like a ho? What is that?”

Tenley was wearing a black curve-hugging skirt that sported a thigh-baring slit, black open-toed heels, and a red silk blouse that seemed to be missing a back. She grinned at Brenna. “I think we’ll do.”

There was a knock at the door, and Tenley quickly snatched up her long coat. Brenna pulled on hers, too. Whoever was at the door wouldn’t linger if they thought they were on their way out. Brenna opened the door to find Nate and Hank.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi back,” she answered, and reached down to scratch Hank’s ears.

“We were just going to take an evening walk around the lake and wondered if you wanted to join us.”

“Hi, Nate,” Tenley said as she moved to stand beside Brenna.

“Oh, hi.” Nate glanced at their coats. “Are you two going out?”

“For dinner,” Brenna said.

“To a movie,” Tenley said at the same time.

Nate’s gray gaze glanced between them, and Brenna got the feeling he knew they were up to something.

“Dinner and a movie,” she said.

“Nate, you’re just the person I was looking for.” Siobhan walked up onto Brenna’s porch and looped a hand around Nate’s arm. “I need a big strong man to help me move some furniture. How about it?”

He smiled down at her, and Brenna had to tamp down the urge to push the other woman off of her porch.

“Sure,” he said. He looked at Brenna reproachfully. “I don’t have any other plans.”

“Great,” Siobhan said. She flipped her short brown bob in what Brenna was sure was a practiced maneuver. “See you in five.”

She turned and left without ever having acknowledged either Brenna or Tenley.

“I’m going to grab our purses,” Tenley said to Brenna, and she ducked back into the cabin. “Good to see you, Nate.”

“You, too,” he said. His gaze returned to Brenna, and she was aware that Hank sat beside them, wagging as if he were waiting for something.

She wasn’t sure what possessed her to do it, but she didn’t want to let Nate go to Siobhan’s without giving him something to think about. She casually let go of the lapels of her coat, letting it swing open.

“So, I’ll see you later?” she asked.

His only response was a nod as his gaze took in her outfit and his mouth fell slightly open, as if he’d been rendered mute.

Tenley joined them on the porch, and after locking the door behind her, she handed Brenna her purse. “Ready?”

“Yep,” Brenna said. She waved at Nate as she walked passed him. He gave her a distracted wave back, and Brenna buttoned her coat, feeling pretty confident that her mission had been accomplished.

They picked their way across the lawn, trying not to let their heels sink into the ground. Tenley was driving because she knew the way, and Brenna got into the passenger seat of her friend’s black sedan. She refused to look back at her cabin to see if Nate was still there.

But as Tenley headed down the drive, she couldn’t resist. She gave a quick glance in the side mirror, and sure enough, Nate was still on her porch, still looking thunderstruck. Brenna smiled.

“He’s so into you,” Tenley said. “It’s obvious in the way he looks at you.”

“Interested is one thing,” she said. “Doing something about your interest is another.”

“True. Maybe you should wear that outfit more often around your house,” Tenley said. “He seemed quite taken with it.”

Brenna tugged at the micromini that seemed determined to ride right up her back. “I don’t know. This isn’t exactly built for comfort.”

“Fashion never is,” Tenley said.

“So, what’s our plan?”

“I want to mingle and see what people are saying about Uncle Harvey and my father,” Tenley said. “Also, Harvey’s wife, Lydia, is a fixture at the club. I’m hoping we can get some information out of her.”

“Do you really think she’ll be there the day after her husband was found shot dead in the woods?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“I don’t see anyone saying much to you,” Brenna said.

“No, they’ll just whisper as I pass by, but they’ll try to get information out of you,” she said. “Which is one of the many reasons why I am bringing you.”

“What should I say if they ask about your father?” Brenna asked.

“Be vague,” Tenley said. “Very vague.”

“Got it,” Brenna said.

Tenley turned onto the winding drive that led to the club. It was dark, but Brenna could still see the sculpted hills of the golf course to the left and the thick woods to the right.

The parking lot was near full, but Tenley pulled up to the valet station. The attendants opened their doors and traded Tenley her keys for a receipt. Tenley huffed out a breath as they climbed the sweeping stone staircase that led to the lobby.

Brenna studied her friend. “Are you all right? You look pale. We don’t have to do this, you know.”

“Yes, I do,” said Tenley. “I know what people are saying, but my father would never harm anyone. He may not be the warmest person, but he is the pinnacle of right and wrong. I know he didn’t kill Uncle Harvey.”

Brenna could hear the tension and worry in Tenley’s voice. She looped her arm through her friend’s as they approached the coat check.

“It’s going to be all right,” she said. They shrugged off their coats and handed them to the girl who manned the big closet.

LADIES’ NIGHT was posted on the event board, and Tenley led them down a hallway that opened up into a bar. The lights were low, the music was loud, and the place was packed. Brenna wasn’t sure what she had expected, but this wasn’t it. At a glance, it appeared that everyone was having a good time.

Upon closer inspection, there was a sense of desperation in the room fueled by alcohol and too much cologne. Brenna noticed that the men sipped highballs and circled the dance floor while the women danced in groups in the center of the dance floor, gyrating and grooving to the beat.

To Brenna it was like watching an episode of
Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom
, where the lions were hunting the hapless antelope. The only thing missing was Marlin Perkins’s voice-over.

A sweaty man in a wrinkled suit and a stringy comb-over greeted them with a leer and a wink. Ew.

“Can I buy you lovelies a drink?” he asked.

Brenna looked to Tenley for guidance. Was this guy someone that they wanted to grill for information or no?

Tenley gave a slight shake of her head, and Brenna sighed with relief.

“Thanks, but we’re meeting someone,” she said.

“The hot ones are always taken,” he said sorrowfully. “Hey, if he doesn’t show, come find me.”

He gave them another wink, and Brenna had a feeling she was going to have to shower the sleazy feel of this place off of her when she got home.

“Okay.” Tenley linked arms with her, and Brenna wondered if it was a self-defense ploy. “We’re mingling. Keep walking. Let’s check out the bar. Bingo.”

Tenley turned her back to the bar and faced Brenna.

“Do you see the redhead at the bar with the martini in front of her?” she asked.

Brenna glanced over her shoulder at the bar: old guy, sweaty guy, older guy, icky comb-over guy, redheaded woman. “Yep, got her.”

“That is Lydia, Harvey’s wife—er, widow,” Tenley said. “She knows me, but she doesn’t know you. Cozy up to her and see what you can find out. I’ll work the room.”

“On it,” Brenna said. She strode toward the bar and wiggled her way in between the icky guy and the redhead.

While the icky guy looked her over, the redhead ignored her.

She glanced at what the woman was drinking. It looked like a dirty martini, loaded with olives. When the bartender asked what she would like, Brenna said, “I’ll have what she’s having.”

At this the redhead turned to look at her. “Little young to be trawling for geezers, aren’t you?”

Brenna looked at the woman’s heavily made-up face. The cosmetics did nothing to hide the lines that were etched into the corners of her eyes and around her lips. The skin beneath her jaw was beginning to sag, and her red hair was giving way to a field of gray roots. She was leaning against the bar, as if she needed it to support her, and Brenna was guessing that this was not her first martini of the evening.

“You take ’em where you can get ’em,” Brenna said. The woman seemed to accept that with a droopy nod.

“I’m Brenna,” she said.

“Lydia,” the woman replied. “I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but I’m not planning on remembering it tomorrow.”

Brenna smiled. There was something absurdly likable about Lydia Lester.

The bartender returned with her drink, and she held it up toward Lydia. “What should we drink to?”

Lydia’s eyes sparkled. “Now you’re talking. What to drink to indeed. How about to freedom?”

“Freedom,” Brenna said. They clinked glasses, and she took a sip and felt the martini burn a trail down her throat.

“Your turn,” Lydia said.

“Oh, um, how about to getting what you want?”

“Good one. To getting what you want,” Lydia repeated, and clinked her glass against Brenna’s. She took a healthy swallow while Brenna sipped.

Lydia was looking quite animated now. “I’ve had a hell of a day.”

“Really?”

“Yep,” she said. “I spent most of it at the police station.”

She paused to take another swallow, and Brenna waited, not wanting to interrupt her.

“My husband is dead,” she said.

“I’m so sorry,” Brenna said.

“Don’t be,” Lydia said. She lifted her glass. “He was a lying, cheating, no-good rat bastard. He was going to ditch me for a younger woman. Can you believe that?”

“No,” Brenna said. She really couldn’t. Lydia was a character. She couldn’t imagine why a man would leave her.

“To Harvey, the dumbass,” Lydia said.

“To Harvey,” Brenna said. They clinked and drank.

“Are you married?” Lydia asked.

“No,” Brenna said.

“Stay that way,” Lydia said. She raised her glass again, and Brenna blew out a breath. Her ears were beginning to ring, but she didn’t want to leave when it looked like Lydia was opening up. “To never marrying for my new friend—I’m sorry; what’s your name?”

“Brenna.”

“To Brenna never marrying.”

They clinked and drank again. Lydia’s glass was dry, so she ordered them another round. Brenna ate her olives in the hope that they would absorb some of the alcohol. As if sensing her dilemma, the bartender put a bowl of pretzels right in front of her. Brenna grabbed a fistful.

When the fresh drinks arrived, Lydia lifted her glass while swaying on her seat. Brenna reached over and righted her before she fell.

“Thank you, dear,” Lydia said. “Shall we continue?”

“Oh, boy,” Brenna muttered. She was not one for more than a few glasses of wine, and this martini was beginning to make her feel rubber-legged and more than a little happy. She hoped Tenley was having as good a time as she was.

She and Lydia drank several more toasts, mostly to anti-men sentiments, which could be why the icky man next to her left and Brenna was free to take his stool. When their glasses were near empty again, Lydia spun around on her stool and clapped a hand to her forehead.

“How could I have forgotten?” she asked. “We need to make one more toast.”

“Really?” Brenna asked. She was now in full wobble mode and feared that standing up was going to be next to impossible.

“Yes!” Lydia cried and raised her glass. “We need to toast the man who has set me free. Here’s to Rupert Morse, thanks for shooting my cheating rat-bastard husband. I owe you one.”

Lydia went to take a sip but ended up falling off of her stool. Before her fanny hit the floor, however, a man in a superbly cut suit caught her under the arms and hoisted her back up. Brenna glanced up to find herself staring into the warm, dark brown eyes of Dom Cappicola.

“Well, gorgeous, we meet again,” he said.

He propped Lydia onto her stool, and she tipped her head back to get a good look at him.

“Hey there, handsome,” she said. “When did you get here?”