Cut to the Corpse (6 page)

“How are things in Morse Point since the mayor’s murderer was locked up?” he asked.

“Back to normal,” Tenley said. “Well, as normal as anything is in Morse Point.”

“What brings you up from Bayview?” Brenna asked.

“My nephew,” Dom said with a sigh. He pointed to a gangly youth on the dance floor with Britney. He wore a shiny suit open enough at the throat to display an array of gold chains. He looked like a gangster wannabe. “He’s been having some issues with the law.”

“Oh,” Brenna said. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know more. She knew some members of Dom’s family were less than thrilled with the direction he was taking the family business in since his father’s retirement, and she wondered if the nephew was one of them.

Britney glanced over at their table and her eyes narrowed when she saw Dom. Just like that, she began to work her way toward their table, walking like a super-model on the catwalk. Dom failed to notice her, however, and Brenna had to look down to keep herself from smiling when Britney’s face went from seductive tart to miffed debutante.

Seeing his nephew heading for the door, Dom rose from his seat to follow.

“Looks like I’m off,” he said with a wry grin.

“Good to see you,” Tenley said.

“You, too,” Dom said. He had unintentionally turned his back to Britney, who did not look pleased at being ignored. He leaned close to Brenna and said, “Just so we’re clear, I’m going to ask you officially, may I take you out sometime?”

“Oh,” Brenna said. She knew she sounded stupid, but being totally caught off guard, she didn’t know what else to say. To Dom’s credit, he grinned at her.

“Surprised you, didn’t I?” he asked.

“A little,” she admitted.

“Well?” he asked.

She glanced around them in a blatant stall maneuver. Britney was almost at their table. Tenley was pretending that she wasn’t listening when Brenna knew full well that she was. She felt herself grow warm with embarrassment, which was ridiculous. It was a simple question.

Yes, she had a crush on Nate, but Nate wasn’t asking her out and Dom was and under any other circumstance, she would probably like Dom very much.

“Okay,” she said. “Yes.”

He blinked. She’d surprised him, which made her smile.

“All right then, I’ll be calling.” He gave her a quick kiss on the mouth, which was warm and tasted faintly of coffee. He gazed at her for a moment and then said, “In case I neglected to tell you, you look beautiful tonight.”

“Thanks,” Brenna said. Her voice sounded hoarse, which made his smile deepen.

She watched him leave, feeling Tenley’s gaze on the side of her face. When she sensed Tenley was about to speak, she raised her hand and said, “Don’t say a word.”

“Word.” Tenley ignored her with a chortle.

“Who was that?” Britney demanded, arriving at their table.

“Brenna’s boyfriend,” Tenley said.

“Just a friend,” Brenna said.

“For now,” Tenley sang.

Tara and the grumpy sisters joined them, and Tenley said, “Well, ladies, I think it is time to call it a night.”

Britney glanced at her delicate, diamond-encrusted Cartier wristwatch. “But it’s just after midnight.”

“See? We’d better go before we all turn into pumpkins,” Brenna said. She and Tenley rose, giving the girls no choice but to follow.

“Remember, Tara,” Brenna said. “We’re meeting your mother at the shop at nine.”

“I’m never going to make it,” Tara said with a hiccup. She wobbled on her spindly heels, and Brenna could tell she’d had too much to drink.

“Tell you what,” Brenna said, taking her elbow to help her navigate the gravel driveway. “I’ll pick you up on my way in tomorrow to make sure you’re on time.”

“Oh, would you?” Tara asked. “See? I just knew we were going to be the best of friends.”

Brenna didn’t have the heart to tell her that she was only doing it because she didn’t want to face Tara’s mother by herself.

The women piled into the limo in a clumsy heap while Tenley asked the driver to bring them back to the Fife and Drum where she and Brenna had left their cars. The visiting girls all had rooms at the Morse Point Inn, an old Victorian house in the center of town that had been remodeled to accommodate guests. Tara, meanwhile, was renting the Crawford bungalow. Brenna knew this because the Porter twins had mentioned that she lived two houses down from them every day since the day she moved in.

As the driver wound his way back toward the center of town, Dana turned on the stereo inside the limo. Pink burst out of the speakers, singing about getting the party started. Brenna found that ironic since all she wanted to do was take off her shoes and go to bed.

The limo pulled up in front of the Fife and Drum and Brenna gratefully stepped out when the driver held the door open. She took a deep breath of the sweet night air, as if she were a felon being paroled. Tenley followed, looking as relieved as Brenna felt.

Tara was about to step out as well, as her bungalow was easily within walking distance, but Britney looped an arm about her friend’s waist and pulled her back into the car and slammed the door.

Tenley and Brenna exchanged a glance, and then Britney’s, and Tara’s heads popped up out of the sunroof on the limo looking like a two-headed jack-in-the-box.

“Woo hoo!” Britney yelled. “Driver, to the Brass Rail!”

The man hurried back around the car and got into the driver’s seat.

“Oh, I really think I should call it a night,” Tara said.

“Don’t be such a party pooper!” Britney snapped. “I came all this way to go out with you and the night isn’t even half over.”

Tara bit her lip, obviously trying to decide between common sense and accommodating her friend. The friend won, and Tara nodded in a sleepy, drunken way.

“Brenna, promise to wake me up tomorrow!” she called as she lurched against the roof when the limo began to pull away from the curb.

“I promise!” Brenna called with a wave, relieved that she had escaped when she did.

“I’ll bet you fifty bucks, she regrets that decision tomorrow,” Tenley said.

“And how,” Brenna agreed.

 

A nudge against her hip roused Brenna from her sleep. She would have ignored it, but given that she’d been sleeping alone for the past few years, it was hard to ignore the presence of another being in her bed.

She opened one eye and found herself nose to muzzle with Hank. He had his head on the pillow beside hers, looking as content as if he’d just corralled a field full of rabbits.

Brenna glanced at the clock. It was seven thirty. She was to meet Tiffany at the shop at nine and if she was going to pick up Tara first, she’d better get moving.

Grateful that she hadn’t had much to drink the night before, Brenna took Hank for a quick jog around their corner of the lake. Then it was a fast shower and into the Jeep for the four and a half mile ride into town.

She drove with her windows down, letting the cool morning air flirt with her hair and sweep across her skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake.

She pulled up in front of Tara’s bungalow, a square light blue house with white trim and a narrow porch. She glanced at the clock on her dashboard. It was quarter to nine. She fervently hoped that Tara was up and moving. She did not relish the idea of trying to hose a drunk girl off in the shower.

She rapped on Tara’s door, but there was no response.
Shocker.

She tried the doorknob, and much to her dismay, it opened. What was this girl thinking? Having been the victim of a nasty robbery in Boston, Brenna took her personal safety very seriously and was mystified when others, especially other women, did not. Maybe she was paranoid and saw a bad guy lurking around every corner, but it kept her safe and nowadays that seemed like a good plan to her.

She knocked on the doorframe, hoping to rouse Tara without having to go inside. There was no answer. She did three more sharp raps and yelled, “Hello?”

Still, no answer. Feeling like an intruder herself, she stepped into Tara’s small house. It was quiet. There was no sound of the shower running or anyone snoring. Maybe Tara had left already.

Still, she felt that she ought to check. She walked through the narrow living room, where a rounded love seat and armchair were decorated in a pretty cobalt blue and white floral upholstery. Stacks of wedding magazines littered the glass coffee table, underneath which the shoes Tara had been wearing the night before lay discarded.

A breakfast bar separated the kitchenette, which was clean and painted bright yellow. Beyond that was a short hallway with two doors; one led to an empty bathroom and the other was half closed. It had to be the bedroom.

“Tara? It’s Brenna, are you up yet?” Brenna took a deep breath and pushed open the door. She really hoped to find the bed made and Tara gone, having left in such a hurry she forgot to lock her door. But no.

The smell struck her first, a metallic odor that bit at her nostrils, causing her to recoil. Something was very wrong. She saw the rumpled bed next. Two heads were visible above the bunched-up purple comforter, one blond and one dark brown.

Oh, gees!
Tara wasn’t alone, and unless Brenna missed her guess the head beside hers did not belong to Jake. She thought about just leaving, but then she feared Tiffany would come storming in here and that made her feel badly for Tara.

“Oh for Pete’s sake!” Brenna snapped, annoyed. She stomped toward the bed. She would wake Tara and then let her deal with the disaster she’d created.

Tara was sound asleep with her mouth hanging open and her skin a pasty shade of gray. Brenna gently shook her, but she was nonresponsive. She wondered if she should douse her with ice water, but she didn’t want to wake Tara’s companion and have to bear witness to that.

She shook Tara again and hissed, “Tara, wake up!”

The bedclothes slid off of her shoulder, and Brenna stepped back with a gasp. Clutched in Tara’s right hand was a long, lethal-looking serrated kitchen knife, and it was covered in blood.

“Wha . . . huh?” Tara mumbled. Her eyes cracked open a little and then she shifted as if she were going to roll over on the knife.

“Tara, wake up!” Brenna yelled. She lunged forward and grabbed Tara’s shoulder to keep her from stabbing herself.

“Brenna?” Tara blinked at her. “Oh, no, did I oversleep? I’m sorry.”

Brenna ran her eyes over the young woman, looking for any signs of injury. Tara was wearing a thin pale blue nightdress. It had several blood smears on it, but she couldn’t find any gashes or open wounds on Tara. So where had the blood come from? Brenna glanced over Tara at the body beside her.

“Tara, what happened last night?” she asked.

Tara looked down at her hands and saw the knife she still held. She jumped and dropped it. She ran her hands over her gown and saw the brown stains, then she looked up at Brenna with confused eyes.

“What is this?” she asked.

“Blood,” Brenna said.

“Whose?”

“His?” Brenna guessed, pointing behind Tara to the body beyond.

Tara whipped her head around, saw the man in her bed, let out an ear-piercing shriek, and leapt out of the bed.

“Oh, my God, who is that?”

“You don’t know?” Brenna asked.

“No, I . . . wait, why did I have a knife in my hand?” she asked.

Her blue eyes were huge, the pupils tiny, and she was so pale, she looked as if all of the blood had been drained out of her. She swayed on her feet and Brenna was afraid she’d faint. She put an arm around her and led her to a chair in the corner.

“I’m going to see if I can rouse him,” Brenna said. “Wait here.”

She circled the bed to the other side. The man was lying with his face buried in the pillows. His dark hair covered the side of his face, and all she could see was his bare shoulder peeking out above the fluffy purple covers.

“Ahem, excuse me, sir,” she said. She reached forward and prodded his shoulder with the heel of her hand.

He didn’t respond and he felt unnaturally stiff. Brenna stared at the covers; they weren’t moving, as in he wasn’t breathing. Panic hit her like a fist in the chest.

She prodded his shoulder again. No response. She felt Tara walk up behind her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I don’t think he’s breathing,” Brenna said. “I’m going to try and turn him over.”

She hunkered down beside the bed, and using both hands pushed his shoulder up and over. It was like trying to lift a car. With a grunt, she gave him a shove and he flopped over.

It was then that she saw the wounds on his forearms and the huge, gaping hole in his chest. It was Clue Parker, and he was dead.

Tara let out another earsplitting scream, and Brenna turned and pulled the girl into her arms. She was shaking and gasping and Brenna feared she was beginning to hyperventilate. She half carried, half dragged Tara into the kitchen, where she pushed her onto a stool while she foraged for a paper bag.