Trinity Harbor 3 - Along Came Trouble (13 page)

Tucker couldn’t deny the obvious. That didn’t mean he had to accept it. “I know in my gut she didn’t do it,” he told Walker. “That may not be good enough for you, but it is for me.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let it be good enough for me,” Walker said. “Tel her to keep that sleazebag attorney’s phone number handy.”

Over the next few hectic days, Tucker kept his conversation with Walker to himself. Unfortunately he couldn’t prevent it from popping into his head every time he looked at Mary Elizabeth. Could she have done it? Could she have changed so much in the last six years that she could have shot her own husband, then cool y walked away and crawled into Tucker’s bed?

Absolutely not, he told himself over and over. But how wel did he real y know her anymore? She was calm under pressure. He’d seen that for himself when Powel had cal ed that impromptu press conference as a preemptive strike over at Swan Ridge.

Granted, she had little if anything to gain from Chandler’s death. If her goal was to get him out of her life, the divorce she was planning would have accomplished the same thing…unless he’d intended to fight dirty, the way that argument in the restaurant implied. She didn’t need her husband’s money…unless, of course, she had managed to squander her entire inheritance. Much as he hated it, Tucker knew he was going to have to check into al of that.

That could wait, though. The funeral she’d arranged was this morning, and he’d promised to be there, at her side. Frances was planning to accompany them, as wel . That ought to make his father’s blood boil. In fact, he had to wonder if King would even come to the service, though years of doing his duty as a Spencer would probably compel him to make a pretense of showing respect for the region’s most prominent politician.

Tucker glanced up and found Mary Elizabeth hovering uncertainly in the doorway to the kitchen. She was dressed in black from head to toe. It was not her best color. It drained her already pale complexion and emphasized the increasingly dark circles under her eyes that not even expertly applied makeup could conceal.

“You okay?” he asked quietly. “Sit down and I’l get you something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” she said, but she did sit. She regarded him with a plaintive expression. “How am I going to get through this?”

“By remembering who you are and by doing what your grandfather would have expected of you. You can do it. You’re stronger than you realize.”

A faint trace of a smile touched her lips. “Ah, yes, the Swans excel at doing the right thing in the face of adversity. My grandfather never shed one single tear when he buried my parents.”

“Which meant you couldn’t, either,” Tucker guessed. It was something they’d never discussed. The funeral had taken place before they’d even met,

“Which meant you couldn’t, either,” Tucker guessed. It was something they’d never discussed. The funeral had taken place before they’d even met, and for years she’d never wanted to talk about her parents at al .

She nodded. “Every time it seemed as if I might cry, he’d look at me with that disapproving frown that, I swear, could dry up the entire Atlantic. I knew better than to let one single tear escape. He considered tears a sign of weakness.”

“You were a kid,” Tucker said angrily.

“Didn’t matter. I was a Swan.”

“Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like if your parents hadn’t been kil ed in Switzerland?” he asked.

“I didn’t need to wonder. I knew. It would have been carefree and exciting and fil ed with interesting people. That’s certainly the way it was for the first nine years of my life.” She regarded him with a wry expression. “Of course, for the most part, I was on the outside looking in. I can remember sitting at the top of the steps in some house we’d rented for the winter, listening to the music and the laughter downstairs, wondering what sort of exotic food they were serving that night and who was there. I used to daydream that a handsome prince—and there was almost always a handsome prince around—

would spot me and whisk me downstairs and dance with me.”

“It sounds lonely,” Tucker said.

Mary Elizabeth looked surprised that he had grasped that. “It was. Being here, even under those terrible circumstances, was so much better.

Swan Ridge was a real home. My grandfather actual y paid attention to me. He could be strict and difficult and undemonstrative, but there was never one single second when I wondered whether or not he knew I was around, not one moment when I doubted that he loved me.”

She regarded Tucker with a sad smile. “And then there was you. I had never had a best friend before. We never stayed any one place long enough. I knew at first that you thought I was a pest, but I was determined to make you like me.”

Tucker grinned. “That explains al those boxes of chocolate-chip cookies I was always finding on the front porch with my name on them.”

“I knew you loved them, because your mom, and later Daisy, were always baking them for you.”

“But theirs weren’t burned crisp at the edges,” he teased, final y earning a ful -fledged smile.

“I’m better in the kitchen now. One of these days I’l whip up a gourmet meal and amaze you.”

“Not necessary,” he said quietly. “You’ve always amazed me.”

Their gazes clashed, and something heavy with longing sizzled in the air. Tucker knew it was wrong, knew it could lead to nothing but trouble, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

“Ah, Mary Elizabeth,” he whispered at last.

“I know,” she said, final y breaking the eye contact. “We can’t do this.”

“No,” he said firmly. “We can’t.” He made a point of looking at his watch. “I think we should get over to the church. Frances said she’d meet us in Anna-Louise’s office. We can wait there until it’s time for the service to start.”

In the car, Mary Elizabeth looked over at him. “You don’t have to sit with me. I know it could be awkward.”

His jaw set with grim determination. “I can deal with awkward.”

“You shouldn’t have to. Not on my account.”

“Mary Elizabeth, we’re not having this discussion again. It’s settled. Unless you don’t want me there, I’l stay with you.”

“Dammit, Tucker, I’m trying to do the right thing. Don’t make it any harder than it already is. Please,” she pleaded. “Your father would be outraged.

So would a lot of other people in town. What’s the point?”

“The point is, you need someone,” he said.

“I’l have Frances. She’s been a godsend the last few days. So has Anna-Louise. I’l be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

She nodded.

“Al right, then. I’l stay at the back of the church. If you need me, al you have to do is look my way.”

“I’m already leaning on you too much. I can get through this on my own.”

“As long as you know you don’t have to,” he said.

“I know.”

He pul ed into the lot behind the smal , white-steepled brick church that had been built in the late eighteenth century. So far the parking lot was blessedly free of media and mourners. He helped Mary Elizabeth from the car, then escorted her quickly inside just as the first television satel ite truck from Richmond pul ed onto the street behind the church. He saw the reporter leap out and sprint in their direction, but Tucker very firmly shut the church door in the man’s face and flipped the lock for good measure.

Anna-Louise and Frances met them in the hal . Frances enveloped Mary Elizabeth in a hug.

“She’s in good hands now,” Anna-Louise reassured Tucker as Frances led Mary Elizabeth into the pastor’s office.

“She won’t let herself fal apart,” Tucker said. “I’m not sure that’s healthy.”

“She’s grieving, don’t make any mistake about that,” Anna-Louise said. “I may not know everything that was going on in her marriage, but I’ve gathered there was trouble. She’s facing a lot of conflicting emotions today—grief, guilt, maybe even a twinge of relief. You can’t help her with any of it, Tucker. She has to work through this in her own way. The best thing you can do for her now is to find out who kil ed her husband.”

He cast one last look after Mary Elizabeth, then nodded. “What did you decide about the TV cameras?”

“They won’t be inside the church or on the cemetery grounds. No other cameras, either. Walker says he’s got that covered. I can’t keep ’em away from the street, so I’m sure they’l be swarming everywhere out there.”

“And Richard?”

She gave him a rueful look. “Yes, that was a tricky one,” she admitted. “But I told my husband the church was off-limits to his camera, too. He’s outside mil ing around somewhere, probably muttering about marrying the most hardheaded woman on the face of the earth.”

Tucker chuckled. “I’l go look for him.”

“Feed him some juicy tidbit about the investigation, if you can. It might make things go better at home tonight.”

An edge in her voice worried him. “You didn’t fight over this, did you?”

“We don’t fight,” she said indignantly, then grinned. “We have noisy discussions and ultimately agree to disagree, especial y when it comes to matters related to our careers. When we got married, we accepted the fact that sometimes our ethics were going to bump smack into each other and cause problems. Knowing that in advance relieves some of the tension when it happens.”

“That actual y works?” Tucker asked skeptical y.

“It has so far,” she said. “By the way, I also saw your father mil ing around outside earlier. He didn’t look any happier than Richard. Maybe you can pacify him while you’re out there.”

Tucker groaned. “You don’t expect much, do you?”

“Only what you’re capable of doing,” she said with an innocently pious expression.

“Yeah, right.”

Tucker left her and slipped out the back door of the church, then wandered around the walkway to the front. King spotted him before he’d taken two steps across the grass.

“Couldn’t you at least have had the good sense to stay away from here today?” his father inquired testily.

“You didn’t,” Tucker pointed out.

“It’s my duty as a Spencer to be here,” King retorted.

“And it’s my duty as Mary Elizabeth’s friend to show my respect for her loss.”

His father snorted. “As if that’s got anything at al to do with you being here.”

“Don’t go there, King. Not here and not now.” He glanced pointedly at the TV cameras aimed their way as wel as at Richard, who was approaching with the grim determination of a man on a mission.

“You,” King said with a sniff. “Might have known you’d be poking around here.”

“Ditto,” Richard said without rancor. “Tucker, could I talk to you a minute?”

“He’s got nothing to say,” King snapped.

“I imagine Tucker is capable of answering for himself,” Richard said with a hint of exasperation. “Tucker?”

“Out back,” Tucker said. “Daddy, if you want to wait til I get back, I’l sit with you.”

“Don’t do me any favors,” his father retorted with a scowl. “You insist on coming inside and making a fool of yourself, steer clear of me.”

Tucker sighed, ful y aware that Richard had taken note of every word. The instant they got around the corner, the editor of the
Trinity Harbor
Weekly
studied him with piercing intensity.

“Mind tel ing me what that was al about?”

“You know King,” Tucker said with a shrug. “His children seldom do what suits him.”

“Sounded to me as if there’s some specific reason he thought you should be steering clear of the funeral,” Richard said. “Does it have something to do with the fact that you and Liz Chandler used to be involved? Several people have taken great pleasure in fil ing me in on that, and on how she dumped you to marry Chandler. True?”

Since most people in town already knew that whole story, Tucker saw little reason to deny it. “Yes,” he said tersely. “Are we on the record here?”

“Unless you object,” Richard told him.

“No. I can live with that. I just want to be sure I understand the rules before I answer you.”

“Fair enough. We’re on the record.” Richard glanced at his notes. “So, is your past with Liz the reason you’ve taken a leave of absence from the sheriff’s office? Because of the potential for a perceived conflict of interest?”

“Yes.”

“Couldn’t you just steer clear of any involvement in the investigation?”

“I could have,” Tucker said. “But Mary Elizabeth asked me to help her. If I’m going to do that, I have to do it in an unofficial capacity. I don’t want to do anything that could be detrimental to a case against whoever did this.”

“And you think that’s someone other than Liz?”

“Yes.”

“How did you come to that conclusion? Is there any evidence so far that points in another direction?”

Tucker scowled at him. “Whatever happened to printing nice little stories about school bake sales and the upcoming arts and crafts festival over at Colonial Beach?”

“Trust me, I have room enough to get those stories in, too,” Richard assured him. “Surely you don’t expect me to ignore the murder of a prominent politician that happened right here in Trinity Harbor?”

“I can always dream,” Tucker responded.

“You gonna answer my question or not?” Richard prodded. “Are there any other suspects?”

“There are
no
suspects at this time,” Tucker retorted emphatical y, then added, “in my opinion. You want an official statement, you’l have to track down Walker. He’s in charge.”

“Is there any chance you can get Mrs. Chandler to talk to me?”

“None,” Tucker said. “Because I won’t even ask.”

“Her attorney seems to be more media savvy than that,” Richard pointed out.

“Then talk to Powel , but if he’s half as smart as I think he is, he’s going to advise Mary Elizabeth to keep her mouth shut from here on out. That statement she made the other day at Swan Ridge is the only thing she’l be saying on the record until we have the murderer locked away.”

“Is she stonewal ing the police?”

“Ask Walker.”

“Is she cooperating with the investigation?”

“Ask Walker.”

“Has she given them any leads?”

“Ask Walker.”

“Can she explain her whereabouts on the night her husband was kil ed?”