Sealed with a Kill (18 page)

Mr. Morse slowly lowered his spoon. Brenna expected him to yell at her for her impertinence, but he didn’t.

“No, I was unaware of that,” he said. “But since I am innocent, she needn’t trouble herself any further.”

“I would say the same, but I’m afraid Tenley is a bit too protective of you to be put off,” Brenna said. “So, here is how you are going to make it easy for her.”

Mr. Morse glanced at her with one eyebrow raised. Brenna saw Ally’s eyes widen, and she was quite sure no one generally spoke to Mr. Morse with such authority in his own home.

“You are quite blunt, Ms. Miller,” Mr. Morse said.

“Oh, I haven’t even begun,” Brenna said. And she heard Josh mutter, “Go get him.”

Brenna took one last bite of her dessert before she rested her spoon on the side of the dish. “You are going to gather all of the information you have on Brian Steele. You will then give it to Tenley, so that she and I can figure out what his relationship with Siobhan Dwyer is and if they have a connection to Lester’s death.”

“If what you say is true, I have attorneys who can check into Brian’s background.”

“Yes, but can they check into Siobhan as efficiently as I can?” Brenna asked.

“I don’t think it’s appropriate for two young ladies to involve themselves in such matters,” Mrs. Morse said. “It is better left to the police.”

“I agree, but your daughter for some unfathomable reason cares too much about her family to let it go,” Brenna said. Her tone made it clear that she couldn’t imagine why Tenley would feel this way about this lot.

She rose from her seat. She was done here. She headed toward the door but then spun around to look at them. She realized she had one more thing to say.

“Do you have any idea how remarkable your daughter is?” she asked. “She saved me when I was completely adrift by offering me a job in her shop and helping me move to Morse Point. She runs an incredibly successful business, and she is beloved by everyone in town. And why wouldn’t she be? She volunteers her time with the elderly and at-risk youth. She gives three hundred percent of herself to everyone she meets without even being asked.”

Brenna glanced around the table. Evie looked petulant, Carrie thoughtful, and Ally grateful. Mr. and Mrs. Morse were both staring at the tabletop—whether in shame or denial, Brenna couldn’t tell, but she really didn’t care.

“You should be proud of her and of who she is,” Brenna said. “And if she has chosen to be with Matt Collins, you should count yourself lucky that she has found a person to spend her life with who is as good as she is and who loves her so very much.”

Brenna took a step back toward the door. “Thank you for dinner. Please tell Mrs. Winslow it was excellent. I’ll be in touch.”

With that, Brenna swept from the dining room. Wow, a dramatic exit and she hadn’t even tripped. Of course, now she had no idea where she was in the house or how to get out. Damn. She really did not want to go back and ask for directions, nor did she want to wander aimlessly and have the family find her.

“Psst,” a voice hissed from farther down the hall, and Brenna followed the sound.

Mrs. Winslow stood there with her coat and purse. Her eyes were a bit misty as she helped Brenna into her coat. “Well said, miss, well said.”

“Thank you,” Brenna said. “Dinner was delicious.”

Mrs. Winslow bowed her head in acknowledgment as she held the door for Brenna. The day had grown even colder and grayer since Brenna had arrived, but she was not unhappy to leave the austere estate behind her as she made her way to her cozy little home.

 

Brenna arrived at her cabin just as it was getting dark. The chill in the air made her burrow down deeper into her coat. Winter was coming fast now. Pretty soon the lake would freeze over and the snow would begin to fall. She thought about the shift in her relationship with Nate. She liked the idea of sitting by the fireplace in her cabin with Nate on one side and Hank on the other, talking about baseball or brownies or not talking at all.

She stepped up onto her porch and saw that the lights were on in Siobhan’s cabin. Maybe it was time to go to the source. She strode over to her neighbor’s without pausing to think about what she’d say once she got there; she just wanted some information to help out her friend. Maybe if she played nice with Siobhan, she’d get it.

She knocked on the door, but there was no answer. She knocked again. Nothing. On impulse she tried the doorknob. It turned, and with a push the door swung open. Brenna wrestled with the moral dilemma of entering a place uninvited for about a nanosecond before she stepped inside.

“Hello?” she called. There was no answer.

She would just take a tiny peek around. Surely that couldn’t hurt anyone. The house was sparsely decorated with the barest of furnishings: a couch, a coffee table, no television, just a laptop on the coffee table. It gave the impression that Siobhan would not be staying long. Not surprisingly, this did not cause Brenna to feel too badly. Not one little bit.

She checked the laptop, but it was off. She didn’t think she should linger long enough to boot it up and check out what files Siobhan had, although she was curious.

She scanned the rest of the living area and then moved on to the bedroom. She wondered if Siobhan had taken Tenley’s ring. Would she ever get another chance to search for it? Several boxes were scattered across the top of the bureau. One held makeup. One held several different perfumes. The largest held jewelry.

Brenna opened the top and found a tangle of earrings. She rifled through it but didn’t see any rings. The bottom seemed awfully high and she wondered if there was more than one container. Sure enough, she lifted out the part that held the earrings and found another section full of necklaces and some rings. She checked through these as well, but still no emerald ring.

She replaced the lid and opened the dresser drawers. The clothes were neatly folded. There weren’t many of them. The closet showed the same, a few dresses, a few pairs of shoes, but nothing that gave the impression that she would be here for very long.

Brenna walked through the bedroom, looking for personal effects. There were none—no photographs, no journals, nothing to tell her who Siobhan Dwyer was or where she came from.

Frustration clawed at her. There had to be something here, something that would give her a lead. She wandered back to the main room.

She saw Siobhan’s art supplies set up in the corner. Her easel and drawing table were littered with work. Her years working in an art gallery made Brenna curious, so she stepped closer to study the work.

Siobhan worked in a variety of mediums. Brenna saw a charcoal sketch that depicted Siobhan’s face, but where her hair should be a large bird was perched. Several paintings were stacked against the wall, all self-portraits. In vibrant tones, Siobhan was depicted angry, and sad, and one looked disturbingly like she was dead.

Other than the self-portraits there were just a few landscapes and fruit bowls. Sadly, no portraits of either Mr. Lester or Brian Steele were to be found.

Something bothered Brenna about the portraits but she couldn’t quite figure out what. She leaned closer to study them but heard a footstep on the front porch that made her heart pound in her chest. Siobhan was home. Uh-oh, Brenna wasn’t a good enough liar to explain this.

Brenna quickly stepped toward the back door. Siobhan’s cabin was laid out the same as hers, so she cut through the small kitchen and swiftly opened the back door. Just as the front door was opening, she shut the back door and quietly slipped across the yard to the back of her own cabin.

It was fully dark now, and she didn’t think Siobhan could see her if she happened to look out her window, but still, Brenna skirted the edge of the trees, hoping to blend in with the foliage.

She was almost at her own back door when a hand reached out of the darkness and grabbed her arm. Brenna opened her mouth to scream but another hand clamped over her mouth. She tried to gauge where her assailant’s privates were so she could hit him with a crushing blow, but a familiar voice interrupted the thought.

“Brenna, it’s me; don’t scream.”

Nate lowered his hand and she spun around to be sure it was him and not a trick.

“Oh, phew,” she said. She bent over and put her hand over her pounding heart. The rush of panic had made her dizzy, and she sucked in great gulping breaths as she tried to calm down. “What are you doing skulking around out here?”

“I might ask you the same,” he said. “I was looking for Hank.”

Brenna turned and unlocked the back door to her cabin.

“I was snooping around Siobhan’s cabin,” she said.

They entered her kitchen and she flicked on the light switch.

“There is something not right about her,” Brenna said. “I can’t put my finger on it, but I know there’s something wrong.”

“I’m getting the same feeling,” Nate agreed. “I still haven’t heard from the friend who requested she stay here.”

“Is that like your friend?”

“No, he’s very reliable,” Nate said. “I don’t like this.”

“Me neither.”

A bark sounded from outside and Nate crossed the living area to open the front door for Hank. As soon as he cracked the door, Hank came bounding in to greet Brenna, dropping his tennis ball at her feet so he could give her a wet, slobbery kiss. He wasn’t alone.

Standing on the porch was Siobhan. She was twirling a measuring cup in her hand and looking very put out.

“Hi, I was wondering if I could borrow a cup of sugar? Since you’re a baker and all I figured you’d have some.”

“Uh, sure,” Brenna said. She tried not to look at Nate, not wanting to show her surprise. Did Siobhan know she had been over at her cabin? Had she seen her? Was the sugar just a ploy to come over and snoop herself?

Siobhan handed her the measuring cup and jumped back when Hank jumped up and tried to lick her. She gave him a very stern, “No.”

Hank was undeterred and tried again. Siobhan moved so that a chair was between her and Hank.

Brenna poured the sugar from her stash in the pantry and was turning around to hand it to Siobhan when it hit her, the thing that had been bothering her about the artwork in her cabin. It was so obvious.

“You really have to give him something else to play with if you want him to behave,” Brenna said. She placed the sugar on the counter and scooped up Hank’s tennis ball from the floor. “Here, catch!”

Brenna tossed the ball at Siobhan, who caught it in her right hand. Nate opened the front door and said, “Throw it this way.”

Siobhan tossed it out the door and Hank went bounding after it with a triple-twist leap of delight.

Brenna held out the sugar to Siobhan, who took it in both hands. Still, Brenna was sure. She opened her mouth to speak, but Nate cut her off.

“It’s really dark out there,” he said. “Let me walk you home.”

Brenna looked at him and he gave a slight shake of his head. Had he figured it out, too?

“Thanks,” Siobhan said with a flirty grin. Brenna tried not to let it bother her.

She watched the door shut behind them and then she began to pace. She assumed Nate would be coming back. As the minutes ticked by, she opened the door to peek out but found only Hank waiting with his ball in his mouth and his tail thumping against the porch floorboards.

“Come in,” she said.

He trotted in, dropped his ball, and slurped out of the bowl of water she kept on the floor for him.

She opened her refrigerator and took out a cheesecake she had baked the day before. It was light and fluffy with a graham cracker crust. Just what her pensive mood needed.

She gave Hank a rolled-up piece of turkey lunch meat as she dug a plastic basket of strawberries out of the bottom drawer. She cut up the strawberries and put them in a bowl and sprinkled them with sugar. Then she fished a can of whipped cream out of the refrigerator and placed it on the counter. As if on cue, there was a knock on the front door, and then Nate walked in as Hank exploded in a frenzy of barking and wagging.

Nate looked at the counter and grinned. “Cheesecake?”

“It helps me think,” Brenna said.

“Me, too,” he said. He took a seat as Brenna handed him a plate and a fork. “Now, what were you about to say to Siobhan before I redirected?”

“So you did do that on purpose.”

“I figured we should talk about it first and not be too hasty in case there’s a smarter way to play it,” he said.

“Probably wise,” she said, although she did feel a bit chagrined. “When I was in her cabin earlier, I noticed something about her artwork but it didn’t register until later.”

Nate had dished them each a healthy slice of cheesecake, spooned strawberries on them, and was now topping them with whipped cream. “What was it?”

“The hatching marks on her sketches descend from left to right.”

Nate was silent for a moment and then said, “But she caught Hank’s ball in her right hand.”

“Exactly.”

“So, her artwork is left-handed but she’s right-handed.”

“Not terribly likely, don’t you think?”

“Whoa,” Nate said.

They sat silently mulling this bit of information while they finished off their cheesecake.

“She’s a fraud,” Brenna said. “If she lied about being an artist, she probably lied about everything else. I’d place money on the fact that she knew Lester. His daughter said something about his embarrassing midlife crisis. What if Siobhan was his midlife crisis?”

“You don’t like her,” Nate said. “Don’t you think your dislike of her might be clouding your judgment?”

“No,” Brenna said and cut herself another piece of cheesecake. Nate motioned for seconds as well, and she loaded them up with strawberries and whipped cream.

“If she killed Lester, why is she still here?” he asked.