Cut to the Corpse (2 page)

As they watched, Tara took three steps back from Jake and then leapt into his arms, giving him no choice but to catch her. Accepting defeat in the battle to keep her dress unmarred, Jake held her close and kissed her with a thoroughness that left Brenna breathless.

She quickly looked away, feeling as if she were intruding on the young couple. She glanced at the others; judging by the flush on everyone else’s cheeks, she knew she wasn’t the only one affected.

“Ladies,” Brenna said. They paid her no mind. “Ella! Marie!” she snapped, forcibly drawing their attention from the young couple.

“What?” Ella snapped, her reverie broken.

“It’s rude to stare,” Brenna said.

“Rude? I’ll tell you what’s rude. Jake was a perfectly well-mannered boy until
she
came around,” Marie said with an indignant sniff. She sounded jealous.

“
She
being Tara?” Brenna asked. “What’s wrong with Tara?”

“She’s not from around here,” Ella said, as if that were explanation enough.

“Neither am I,” Brenna reminded them.

“That’s different, dear,” Marie said comfortingly. “Last April, when you solved the mayor’s murder, you proved you’re one of us. Besides, Tenley Morse is your friend and her family founded Morse Point.”

“You can’t get a better recommendation than that,” Ella concurred.

Brenna glanced over her shoulder at Tenley, who was hiding her laughter behind a large book of wedding invitation samples.

“Be that as it may,” Brenna said, “I don’t see what’s wrong with a little kissing between engaged persons. In fact, I think it’s sweet.”

As the three women glanced back out the window at the young couple, Nate Williams strolled by. His feet faltered when he saw the three of them pressed against the glass. His gaze met Brenna’s and the corner of his mouth turned up in a small smile. She had no doubt he was amused to find her wedged between the Porter twins like a slice of olive loaf between two pieces of rye. She would have shrugged but her arms were pinned to her sides.

His silver gaze glinted as he made his way toward the door of the shop. The jangle of the string of bells on the door made the twins hop off their perch to check out the new arrival. They fairly lit up at the sight of Nate, who was known to be reclusive and seldom darkened the door of any store other than the grocery.

“Hi, Tenley, ladies,” he said, acknowledging Ella and Marie. “I was wondering if I could borrow Brenna for a bit.”

“Hi, Nate,” Tenley answered naturally, as if it weren’t at all unusual for Nate to be in her shop. “Go right ahead. Just have her back in time to teach her class.”

“Will do,” he said. “Brenna?”

She could feel the Porter sisters’ matching inquisitive gazes boring into her back as she slid out of the window and walked toward the door where Nate waited.

“Don’t tell me my rent is overdue,” she joked.

“No, but I do have some landlord-tenant business to discuss with you,” he said. He looked serious, and Brenna felt a flicker of doubt ignite inside of her.

Nate Williams had once been a world famous artist, who abruptly retired from the New York art scene ten years ago. He had relocated to Morse Point, Massachusetts, after his retirement, and other than being the chief suspect in a murder investigation three months ago, he had managed to live a very quiet life here. He owned several cabins on the shore of Morse Point Lake, one of which Brenna had been renting from him for a little more than a year.

“Is something wrong?” she asked as she followed him outside.

He led the way down the sidewalk, away from the big ears of the twins. Brenna matched his longer stride and waited for him to explain.

At the corner, he turned to face her. His slate gray gaze was as intense as ever, giving Brenna the impression that they were completely alone as opposed to standing on a busy street corner.

“Did you catch the game last night?” he asked.

She might have known. He wanted to talk baseball. Nate was a devout Yankee fan, while Brenna was a card-carrying member of the Red Sox Nation.

“Talk to the hand,” she said and put hers up between them. She turned and resumed walking. She figured she might as well grab a latte at Stan’s Diner while she was out and about.

“Oh, what’s the matter?” he asked. “Is the taste of defeat a little bitter?”

“It was only the first game in the series,” she said. “There are two to go, and I’m quite sure I’ll be the one gloating then.”

“Gloating?” he repeated. “I’m not gloating.”

“Oh, please,” she said, pulling the door to the diner open, “if you looked any more smug, I’d think you batted in the winning run yourself.”

Nate grinned, and Brenna felt her pupils dilate again, but this time in a good way. With his perpetually tousled brown hair, sharp masculine features, and lean runner’s build, Nate Williams was the best looking bachelor in town. Hands down.

Okay, maybe her friend Tenley would argue that Matt Collins, the bartender at the Fife and Drum, was the hottest single man in town, but for Brenna, it was Nate. Too bad he seemed to see her as just a friend.

She took a seat at the counter and Nate sat beside her. She was surprised. Nate didn’t come into town often and when he did, he didn’t linger.

“So why were you and the Porter twins plastered to the window?” he asked.

“Jake Haywood and Tara Montgomery,” she explained.

Nate looked bewildered, so she spun on her stool and pointed through the window to the young couple now walking hand in hand across the town square.

“And they would be of interest because . . . ?”

“She’s not from around here,” Brenna explained. She was glad to see that Nate looked as confused as she had once been.

“Can I take your order?” Marybeth DeFalco asked from behind the counter.

“A latte, please,” Brenna said. “Heavy on the froth.”

“I’ll have the same but little to no froth,” Nate said.

“But that’s the best part,” Brenna said.

“Not if you’re a man,” he said. “Men don’t do froth.”

“Fine, can I have his then?” Brenna asked.

Marybeth studied them for a moment. She had been giving the Porter twins a run for the money in the gossip race, mostly because she was married to Officer DeFalco, a local cop, and was therefore privy to inside information. Brenna knew Marybeth was sizing up the situation and trying to choose the best way to determine what Brenna and Nate were doing together. She decided to cut Marybeth off at the knees.

“Separate checks, please,” Brenna said with a small smile. Marybeth nodded with understanding.

Nate gave her a look.

“What?” she asked. “Did you want to be served up as the latest dish?”

“Huh?” he asked.

“You really need to get out more,” she said. “If you buy me a cup of coffee, the whole town will be speculating as to whether we’re dating.”

“And why do we care what other people think?” Nate propped his chin on his hand as he studied her. She could tell by the crinkles in the corners of his eyes that he found this conversation amusing.

“Let’s just say that I don’t want to be in Tara Montgomery’s shoes,” Brenna said.

“Why? What’s wrong with her shoes?” he asked. “Broken heel?”

Brenna grinned. He was teasing her by being deliberately obtuse, and it was charming. Still, just because Nate didn’t care what anyone thought of him, didn’t mean Brenna was about to let herself become an overmined vein of gossip for Morse Point.

She’d had more than her share of attention when she’d first arrived in town. She was just beginning to feel accepted, and she wasn’t about to blow it by drawing attention to herself.

“Tara is from Boston,” she explained. “She’s marrying a local man, and the residents are still undecided if this is a good thing or not.”

Nate spun on his chair to look out the window. Tara and Jake were still holding hands as they walked down the sidewalk toward the garage where Jake worked.

Haywood Auto, owned and operated by Jake’s father for the past thirty years, was where everyone in town took their cars. Everyone had a John Haywood story.

Lillian Page, the town librarian and mother of five boys ages two to twelve, had recently raced into Haywood Auto, convinced her minivan was about to blow up because it was making scary knocking noises. Turned out it was marbles in the gas tank. John got the marbles out and only charged her ten dollars because he said it was worth the laugh as she chased the boys around the garage, threatening to send them to their rooms for so long they’d think they were mattresses.

John Haywood was everyone’s favorite mechanic, and his son Jake was following in his father’s footsteps. Or at least he was, until he fell in love with Tara Montgomery.

“I don’t see how it’s anyone’s business,” Nate said. “If they’re happy, people should just butt out.”

“Damn straight,” a gruff voice said from behind them.

Brenna spun around to see Stan, the owner and cook of Stan’s Diner, standing behind them with their lattes. Stan was a beefy, red-faced man, who had retired from the U.S. Navy twenty plus years ago and still looked as if he’d be more comfortable with a rolling deck under his feet instead of solid linoleum flooring. He was an artist in the kitchen, however, and today he had shaped the froth on Brenna’s latte into a five-petal flower sprinkled with nutmeg.

“Thanks, Stan,” she said. He nodded and she realized that the two words he’d just uttered were the most conversation she’d ever gotten out of him.

Stan lumbered away, and Brenna turned back to Nate. “So, tell me, what really brought you into town?”

“You, actually,” he said.

Brenna felt the hot coffee warm her hand through the thick ceramic mug almost to the point of discomfort, and yet, she didn’t let go. Some months before, she had realized that she had a very unwelcome crush on Nate Williams. Mostly it was unwelcome because she didn’t think he regarded her as anything more than a tenant/friend.

Still, it was physically impossible to ignore the warm flush of hope that filled her at his words. She took a bracing sip of coffee, hoping she had not just given herself a frothy mustache while she waited for him to continue.

“I need to go out of town for a few days,” he said, “and I was wondering if you would mind babysitting Hank?”

Hank was Nate’s exuberant golden retriever. Brenna had a crush on him almost as big as the one she had on Nate.

“I’d love to,” she said, and meant it. If she was disappointed at not being asked out by Nate, which she had known was pretty much out of the realm of possibility, she was buoyed by getting to have Hank for a few days.

“Thanks,” he said. “He worships you, and I’d worry about him if I left him with anyone else.”

“When do you leave?” she asked. She knew that asking where, which was what she really wanted to know, would be too intrusive, so she hoped this was a nice roundabout way of digging for information.

“Tomorrow,” he said.

Okay, so much for the roundabout route.

“I’ll be back on Monday,” he said.

Brenna nodded. Her one bedroom cabin sat across a small inlet from Nate’s. She often sat on her porch in the evening, especially now that the June nights were warm, and watched the sun set across the water. Because Nate seldom went out, his lights were usually on. She realized it was going to be odd to look across the lake and see his cabin dark. At least she’d have Hank for company.

“Thanks, Brenna,” he said. “I owe you one.”

“No problem,” she said. She glanced at her watch. “Is that the time? Ack, I have to go. I have to teach a class.”

She hopped off her stool and fished the money out of her pocket for the coffee, but Nate closed his hand over hers.

“No,” he said. “It’s on me.”

Brenna could feel Marybeth watching them from down the counter. Nate followed her glance and shook his head at her.

“I don’t care what anyone says,” he said. His silver gaze was intent upon hers. “It’s on me.”

“You’re just asking for trouble,” she said but knew there would be no talking him out of it. “Thanks for the coffee. I’ll be home late tonight. Can you bring Hank over before you leave tomorrow?”

“Sure,” he said. “And thanks again.”

“My pleasure,” she said as she hurried toward the door. She refused to wonder about where he was going and why. Really, it was none of her business. And maybe if she told herself that twenty times, she’d believe it.
Yeah, right.

Brenna hurried back up the street to Vintage Papers. She had a decoupage class to prep for and she was looking forward to tonight’s project.

The bells jangled on the door as she entered, and Tenley glanced up at her from the worktable in the back.

The table was covered in blue vinyl, and she had already begun to put out the scissors and glue for tonight’s class.