Sealed with a Kill (20 page)

“I just can’t believe this,” Tenley said. “My father would never do anything to harm Uncle Harvey. How could the murder weapon have been in his car? Someone must have planted it.”

No sooner had they shut the door behind them than it was yanked open by Matt Collins. Tenley glanced up at him and he simply opened his arms wide. She stepped into his embrace and it was as if the rest of the world vanished.

Brenna figured Matt was really the only one who could comfort Tenley right now. She decided to give them some privacy and left the shop, flipping the store’s sign to CLOSED and locking the door behind her. She walked to her Jeep and decided to go for a drive. Second to showering, driving was a great activity for thinking, especially when there was no specific destination in mind.

She didn’t like the anonymous tip thing, and judging by Chief Barker’s frown, he didn’t, either. Still, it was not something that could be ignored.

Brenna wondered if the call from the tipster had been traced. Surely that would give them some information. She knew that Nate would tell her she was being paranoid, but she wondered if Siobhan was the one who had placed that call. If only she could prove that Siobhan had been having an affair with Lester, then she knew she could get the chief to investigate her more thoroughly.

As she motored out of town, she thought back to what Nate had said. If Siobhan was the killer, why was she still here? There had to be something in it for her.

Was she in his will? That would be motive. Had he backed out of their relationship and she killed him in anger? That would be a crime of passion, but why would she stick around? Maybe it was a combination of the two. Maybe she was in his will and he backed out of their relationship and she killed him, hoping she’d still get her chunk of his fortune. And if someone else got arrested for the murder, well, that would be the cherry on top.

Brenna had a feeling Nate would tell her that this was pretty far-fetched and it was her dislike of Siobhan that had her fixated on her as the murderer. Maybe. Or maybe she was on to something. There was only one way to find out. She needed to talk to Lydia Lester again and see if she knew anything about her husband’s will.

Brenna arrived at the country club fifteen minutes later. She straightened her shoulders and walked in as if she were a member. The host at the doorway to the dining room gave her a once-over and Brenna wished she had dressed in something other than khakis and a sweater.

The badge on his shirt read TREVOR. He was tall and thin, with pinched features, as if he perpetually smelled something foul. Brenna hoped it wasn’t her. The part in his light brown hair was as straight as a ruler’s edge. He looked young, in his early twenties, and she wondered if he’d ever grow into his rather large nose and ears or if they would always appear two sizes too big.

“Hello, Trevor. I’m meeting Mrs. Lester,” she lied. “Could you direct me to her?”

Trevor’s demeanor changed into one of obsequious good cheer. “Why, yes, of course. Please follow me.”

They strode down a wide hallway past the bar Brenna remembered from her last visit to a large sitting room. Cushy leather chairs were scattered among antique tables. Newspapers and magazines were plentiful and a widescreen television took up one corner of the room.

There were very few people in here this early in the day, but in one corner sat Lydia Lester. She had a travel magazine in one hand and a Bloody Mary in the other.

The wobbly expression on her face led Brenna to believe this was not her first cocktail of the day.

“Hi, Lydia.” Brenna swept right up to her, giving Lydia no choice but to hug her back. “So good to see you again.”

Lydia blinked at her as if trying to place her, and Brenna turned to Trevor and said, “Could you bring me one of whatever she’s drinking and another for her? Thanks.”

“I’ll inform your server,” Trevor said with a slight bow, letting Brenna know that he saw himself above the position of waitstaff.

She plunked down in the chair next to Lydia’s and said, “So, what are we drinking to today?”

Fuzzy recognition lit Lydia’s eyes and she said, “Bernice, is that you?”

“Brenna, actually,” she said.

“Bernice, Brenna, Brittany, whatever.” Lydia waved her hand. “How the heck are you?”

“Doing well,” she said. “And you? Still celebrating?”

“You’d better believe it,” Lydia said. “I heard they arrested Rupert Morse this morning. I feel badly about that. I’m thinking I need to send him flowers or a casserole or something.”

“Do you really think he did it?”

A waitress appeared with their drinks. Brenna expected Lydia to hold her tongue until the young girl left, but Lydia barely acknowledged the girl’s presence.

“He must have,” she said.

“Thank you,” Brenna said to the waitress, who took away Lydia’s empty glass as she left.

“Here’s to a husband-free cruise,” Lydia said and clinked her glass against Brenna’s. “I’m going around the world on a boat. I’m going to sit in a lounger with my flag up and pickle myself on the rums of the Caribbean, the beers of Germany, and the plum wines of Japan.”

“That’s ambitious,” Brenna said. “How long will you be gone?”

“A year, give or take,” Lydia said.

“Can you afford that?” Brenna asked. “I mean, you have the estate to settle and all.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Lydia said. “I’m Harvey’s wife. I know he left some smaller sums for the girls but the bulk of his estate goes to me.”

“I hate to be indelicate,” Brenna said. “But . . .”

She hesitated. She really hoped that Lydia was drunk enough for her to broach this subject without making her angry.

“But what? Don’t stall now, dear,” Lydia said. She clinked her glass against Brenna’s again. “To wealthy widowhood.”

“I heard, and I’m sorry to repeat it, that Harvey was having an affair,” she said. “Aren’t you afraid he may have left something to his mistress?”

Lydia sat up straight as if this thought had never occurred to her. She contemplated this as she took a healthy swig off of her drink.

“I would be concerned,” she said, but then gave Brenna a sly smile. “But I found out about his little love muffin, oh, six months ago, and I very quietly and very carefully had him sign over ownership of the house, the cars, the vacation homes, and the joint bank accounts to me.”

“How did you manage that?”

“Easy. He was so preoccupied with his new hobby that when I told him I needed his signature on some insurance papers, he never even bothered to look. What a dope. When he left me, the only thing he could take with him was a paper sack full of underwear.”

“So, he actually left you?” Brenna asked. “When was that?”

“About a week before he died,” Lydia said. “He tried to use the credit cards to book a room in a posh hotel in Milstead, but he was rejected. I’m sure it was a nasty shock for him to discover that his name had been removed from all of our accounts.”

“What happened then?”

“Oh, the usual,” Lydia said. “He called angry at first; then he tried to bargain. I’m sure he was in a panic because once his little tart found out he was broke, she’d leave him flat. He really had no choice but to try to sell his portion of the company to make enough money to keep his little chippie happy. He even tried to sell it to me. Ha!”

“What did you say to that?”

“I told him to get bent. I bore four children for that man. I worked while he went to school. I borrowed money from my parents to help him start his little business with Rupert Morse, and he thought he was just going to walk away from forty years of marriage and start over again with some young bit of fluff. Humph, not on my watch.”

Brenna looked at the fire in Lydia’s eyes and she wondered if she’d been wrong. If ever there was anyone with sufficient rage and a motive for Harvey’s murder, it was Lydia. Just because she liked Lydia’s spunk and zest for life, she couldn’t overlook her as a prime suspect.

“Lydia, you didn’t . . .” Brenna’s voice trailed off. She wasn’t sure how to ask this question.

“No, I didn’t,” Lydia said. She took a hearty swallow from her glass and smiled at Brenna.

“Didn’t what?” Brenna asked.

“Murder my husband,” Lydia said. “Chief Barker has asked me repeatedly, but the answer is no. Not that he didn’t deserve it, but how would that be a satisfying revenge for his shenanigans? No, no, the absolute best revenge was going to be to live extraordinarily well and rub his stubby little nose in it for the rest of his life.”

Lydia stared down into her glass and looked morose.

“What’s wrong?” Brenna asked.

“Someone took that away from me,” Lydia said in a small voice. “Someone took my daughters’ father away from them. It isn’t right, even if he was being a two-timing pig.”

Lydia took another sip from her glass and shook off her melancholy like a duck flapping water off of its wings.

“So, what do you think of my travel plans?” she asked.

“Impressive.”

“I thought so.” Lydia tipped her head in acknowledgment. “Now with Rupert in jail and Harvey dead, I figure Tricia and I can sell off the company for a nice profit. She certainly deserves it after all these years with Rupert. Do you think she’d want to come on the cruise with me? Maybe I should invite her.”

Brenna tried to wrap her brain around a picture of drunken Lydia and prim Tricia cavorting on a cruise around the world together. She couldn’t get it to focus.

“I don’t see Tricia leaving Rupert,” she said.

“Don’t be too sure,” Lydia said. “If he gives me any trouble about selling the company, I fully intend to use his previous indiscretion against him and force him to agree.”

“Indiscretion? Mr. Morse?”

“Indeed,” Lydia said with a chortle.

Brenna opened her mouth to barrage Lydia with questions, but her daughter Kristin arrived, took one look at the two of them, and huffed in disgust.

“Mother, how could you?” she asked. “I told you we had to go to the funeral home today to make arrangements. I can’t take you like this.”

“So don’t,” Lydia said. She tried to down her drink before her daughter snatched it away, but Kristin was too quick for her. “As far as I’m concerned, your father can be cremated and stuffed in a coffee can to be taken out with the trash.”

“I’m sorry, but are you a member here?” Kristin turned flashing eyes on Brenna.

“Bernice is my guest,” Lydia said.

“Really? I thought her name was Brenna,” Kristin said. A vein had begun to throb in her temple.

Brenna sensed this might be a good time to make a full retreat. “Would you look at the time? Gotta run. Great to see you again, Lydia. Keep in touch.”

Brenna power walked out of the sitting room, without breaking her stride or looking back. She waved at Trevor as she passed, hoping she didn’t look like she was running away, which she was.

She hurried across the parking lot to her Jeep and started down the winding road past the golf course and back to the main road. A brisk breeze was tickling the leaves out of the trees, and she felt as if she were driving through a shower of gold as she left the club behind her.

She couldn’t help but mull over Lydia’s words as she drove. What indiscretion could Mr. Morse possibly have in his past that Lydia could use to leverage his cooperation now? Maybe it was just wishful thinking or too many Bloody Marys on Lydia’s part that made her think she had something on him.

Still, she had sounded awfully sure. Brenna would have liked to ask Tenley about it, but she suspected that would not go over well. Tenley may be at odds with her family over her business and her relationship with Matt, but she was still as loyal to them as the tide to the pull of the moon, and Brenna knew that she would never believe any ill of them, especially her father.

Who, then, could she ask? There was really only one choice. The Porter sisters knew everyone and everything that happened in Morse Point. If Brenna wanted to know if Lydia could really have some dirt on Mr. Morse, then she had to run it by Ella and Marie.

 

The Porter sisters shared a small, butter yellow bungalow with green shutters and a white picket fence just off the center of town. Neat and tidy, their house was always immaculate inside and out.

Brenna rang the captain’s bell that hung beside the front door.

“I’ve got it,” came a voice from inside.

“No, I do,” said another.

“It’s my turn; you got it the last time.”

“I did not.”

The door was abruptly yanked open and two gray heads popped out.

“Brenna!” they said together. “Come in.”

“I was just making some tea,” Marie said. “Do you like Brie? I have some sesame crackers that are just perfect with a chunk of Brie.”

“Oh, don’t go to any trouble,” Brenna said.

“It’s no trouble.” Marie waved her hand. “You two go sit. I’ll be right there.”

Ella led Brenna into a cozy front room. A small fire was crackling in the fireplace and a wooden worktable was in the center of the room, covered in newspaper with several pumpkins on top of that.

“Since you’re here, you may as well pitch in to help,” Ella said. “We’re decoupaging these pumpkins.”

“Really?”

“They can’t have jack-o-lanterns in the children’s wing at the hospital, so Marie and I thought we’d cover these with bats and spiders and bring them over to brighten the place up.”

“That’s a wonderful idea.”

“You can borrow it if you want,” Ella said. She sounded nonchalant, but Brenna could tell she was pleased with the praise.

Brenna picked out a chunky pumpkin and some cutouts of happy bats. She coated the back of the bat with glue and then used a sponge brush to press it into the creases of the pumpkin.

She could hear Marie rattling in the kitchen and she glanced at Ella. She had her head down and was trying to get a delicate spiderweb in place without ripping it.