To Love and to Perish (6 page)

Eight

The pull of unanswered
questions was like quick sand—deadly and impossible to escape.

I leaned forward and breathed my reply, “What evidence?”

Cory pointed at me. “Wait here!”

He leapt from his chair and raced across the showroom floor, narrowly missing a collision with the spoiler on the Mazda when his dress shoes slid out from under him on the ceramic floor. The bells jingled as Cory slammed through the front door and disappeared toward the parking lot. Clearly he'd taken my question as the green light to share all. I hoped I wouldn't find myself in an awkward position with Ray or any other lawman once he'd finished.

A minute later he reappeared, out of breath, briefcase in hand, the contents of which he dumped on my desk after furtively closing and locking my office door.

I assessed the check registers and high school yearbook, wondering if they technically constituted stolen property and what the legal ramifications might be of having possession of them, seeing as they were laid out on my desk.

“Cory—”

He cut me off. “Look at these registers, Jo. Starting six months after the crash and lasting for eleven and half years, Brennan wrote a check on the first of every month to “Cash” for five thousand dollars. He stopped a year ago. I think someone was blackmailing him.”

“That's a huge leap. Maybe it was to pay monthly bills.”

Cory dismissed my notion with a wave of his hand. “His monthly bills were paid by check, too, and he made cash withdrawals throughout the months that look like spending money. His business records don't reflect this money, either.”

I grabbed my calculator and did the math. $690,000. Wow! “I don't know, Cory. Who would be blackmailing him?”

“Maybe the other passenger in the car. She would know if he was drunk.”

“I'm sure the police must have spoken to her after the crash, before they decided not to charge Brennan.”

“Maybe she lied for him.”

Cory had veered into wanton speculation now. Or had he? Impossible to know without further investigation. “I'm not sure this all adds up to blackmail.”

“I think it does. I asked Brennan once why everyone jokes about
skeletons in his closet. He got all embarrassed, then he said, ‘I guess I didn't pay off enough people.' I thought he was kidding, but now that I think back, he seemed serious.”

That would make me think blackmail, too. “What else did you find?”

He dropped the check register and reached for the yearbook. Three pictures fell from it as he lifted it in the air: two of young women and one, a young man. “This is Brennan's senior yearbook. I read all the notes his friends wrote in it. It looks like he and Monica were going steady. Her best friend was Elizabeth Potter, and his was Wayne Engle, who was also on the track team and in Torque Club. The four of them planned to go to the senior ball together. They wrote about it.” Cory whipped the book open, flipped through the pages and pointed the entries out. “See?”

I did. “So who's who?”

Cory pointed to the two by three photo of a stunning blond girl with startlingly blue eyes and dimples that had fallen on my desk. “That's Monica. The other is Elizabeth. And this is Wayne.”

Elizabeth had dark hair teased into an incredible pouf, heavy eye shadow that made her eyes disappear, and a crooked but friendly smile. Wayne was another blond Adonis, dark eyes sparkling and a loopy, happy grin. No wonder he and Brennan were friends. He looked a little familiar, too. I wondered if we'd ever sold him a car.

“Did Wayne and Elizabeth date?”

Cory shook his head. “Doesn't seem like it.”

I leaned back in my executive chair, which squeaked in protest. I'd have to find the oil can later. “What do you make of Brennan going steady with Monica?”

Cory's smile was rueful. “I went steady with a girl in high school, too. The heterosexual pressure is pretty tough to ignore, you know.”

I could imagine. “Not to get too personal, but were you intimate?”

Cory burst out laughing. “I never even kissed her. All we did was hold hands. We still send each other Christmas cards every year. She has three kids now with her husband. I wished she'd been the one. She was a really nice girl.”

I glanced over the spoils on the desk. “So you took this stuff because you're afraid Brennan was paying Elizabeth to keep her mouth shut?”

“Yes.”

“I think the statute of limitations would have run out by now, don't you?”

“The court of popular opinion is in session every day. Brennan's reputation and his business could be ruined by this if it's true.”

“Why did the payments stop a year ago?”

“I don't know, but I'd like to find out.”

Something else bothered me. I decided not to keep it to myself. “You don't seem to have much faith in Brennan, Cory. Have you known him to be impulsive or violent?”

He shook his head. “Never.”

“Then why are you so convinced he's guilty of something?”

Cory rubbed his hands together and cracked his knuckles. “You know my track record. Mr. Right has been Mr. Wrong every time. I don't have that much confidence in my judgment anymore.”

“What about Brennan? What do you really think of him?”

A wistful expression crossed Cory's face. “I'm afraid he's too good to be true.”

_____

I contemplated Cory's statements the rest of the day and into the evening, so much so that I failed to pay attention to my pot of chili on the stove, heating it to the point where the smoke alarms went off in the house. Danny proved quite adept at removing the batteries to kill the noise. We must have aired the house out enough before Ray got home because he didn't comment on any lingering burnt smell. I skimmed the top of the pot to serve with cornbread. No one complained.

But keeping Cory's confidence proved challenging. Ray asked me if I'd talked with Cory and gotten him under control. I said, “yes” but really thought “no.” Cory had asked me to help him look into the thirteen-year-old accident, believing it would offer insights into Gleason's death. It seemed possible. And I wanted to help. I wanted to know the truth about the accident and the huge checks Brennan wrote, but more importantly, I wanted to know if Cory and I had been wrong about Brennan. We both had thought he was a prize until now. On the other hand, Ray was not likely to be pleased to have me aiding and abetting Cory's investigation. Ray and Catherine might want to lock up both of us.

I tossed and turned all night, to the point where Ray threw his arm over me and pinned me between his chest and the mattress so he could get some rest. I got up with my head feeling clouded, still uncertain of the right course of action.

Ray and I dressed side by side in the walk-in closet, Ray donning his gray sheriff's deputy uniform and me, tan slacks and a summer-weight blouse. “Darlin', what was on your mind last night? You were like a jumping bean.”

“Cory asked me to help him find out more about Monica Gleason's accident. It's eating at him that Brennan might have been responsible for her death. He wants to see if we can find the other passenger in the car and talk to her.” I hoped Ray wouldn't ask how we planned to do that.

He didn't. Instead, he laid his hands on my shoulders and leaned
down to look me in the eye. “Darlin', Brennan asked Cory to stay out of it. Catherine asked him, too. Ken will look into it as part of the investigation. The two of you will only create problems.”

I resented his immediate dismissal of our capabilities. “We're only trying to help.”

“Help with what?”

I shook him off and answered through the pink silk blouse I pulled over my head. “Finding the truth.”

My head popped through the neckline in time for me to catch Ray's frown.

“Jolene, I hate to say it, but I think you're both only going to learn the truth when it comes out in court. Until then, just keep Cory busy at the shop.”

I pondered Ray's advice after he left for work. Keeping Cory busy could prove problematic. With Cory's attention divided because of Brennan, our customers might be in danger. Yesterday, Cory had pulled the Volvo out of the bay for the customer, who drove off only to return minutes later to say the car was acting “funny.” Turned out Cory didn't release the parking brake when he backed the Volvo out of the garage. Our customer never thought to check something as simple as that. Normally Cory never would have overlooked something like that either. I had to worry what else he might overlook. Things could get deadly.

_____

Cory was waiting for me when I arrived at the shop around 8:50 a.m. This time, he brought the donuts. The scent of fried cakes and cinnamon filled the showroom. Maybe if we opened the door, the aroma might entice car buyers in off the street like it did at the donut shop. Probably not, though. Labor Day marked the end of the tourist traffic and sales would be slow from now until April. Cory's business picked up with the first snowfall, when the ice turned driving into bumper cars and everyone worried their engines wouldn't turn over. Too bad today's weather report said, “Indian summer.” My business' cash flow was about to lull.

Cory let me finish my donut before he brought up the subject of investigating Brennan's crash. “Do you want to go with me to look up Elizabeth Potter or not?”

“Today?”

“Tomorrow. I have an appointment for a transmission and a brake job today, but everyone else is going to have to wait.”

I opened my mouth to object, then closed it again. Cory had vacation time coming. Besides, our maintenance customers were a loyal bunch. “Where do you propose to start looking?”

“Her parents still live at the Albany address listed in the yearbook. I found them online last night. I thought about calling them, but I think they might be more forthcoming if we show up on their doorstep.”

He was right. Plus, body language gives away so much, and we'd have the element of surprise. On the other hand, Albany was hours away. Given Danny's school schedule and his football practices, I wasn't going to be able to disappear without telling Ray where I was going so he could pick up the slack. “Ray's not going to like it.”

“Since when does that stop you?”

True, I liked to make up my own mind. I'd even been referred to as stubborn. Stubborn can work to one's advantage, especially with a sister like Erica. Cory knew that, but shame on him for playing me that way. I took it as a sign of his desperation.

“This is a legal matter. Ray's the expert on legal matters, he and Catherine. And he said his friend Ken would look into it as part of the investigation.” Of course, Ken would be looking to make his case, not get Brennan off, and he didn't know about the strange monthly payments and all of Brennan's old friends who might be hiding something.

Cory scraped some crumbs off my desk and into his hand. “I wasn't going to tell you, but Brennan called me last night.”

“From jail?”

“Yep.” Cory flicked the crumbs into the trash can and brushed his hands on his coveralls.

“What did he say?”

“That he missed me and not to worry. And not to do anything. He thinks Catherine has everything under control.”

“But he's still in jail.”

“He's working on the bail money, calling in a few favors. He said it wasn't all that bad in jail anyway.”

“Really?” I had pictured Brennan lying on a thin mattress with a stainless steel toilet and sink two feet from his head and jail bars tickling his toes.

“It's a county lockup, not prison, you know.” Cory said the words as though quoting Brennan.

“I don't understand why he doesn't call his father. The news reports said he's loaded.”

“He is, but they don't talk. His father doesn't like what he refers to as Brennan's ‘lifestyle.' He wrote him out of the will a long time ago. That's why Brennan moved here, to get away from his father.”

“What about his mom?”

“She's dead, remember? She left Brennan her family money, though. That's how he got his business started.”

I did recall Brennan mentioning his mother was dead when he joined us for Thanksgiving last year. Now I knew why he hadn't mentioned his father.

“Did Brennan say anything about the crash, like if his father bought his way out of being charged?”

“I tried to ask him about the crash. He said he was out of time to talk and had to hang up. But I heard a guy in the background say that he still had two minutes left on his time.” Cory raised his eyebrows.

“Okay, I agree that's suspicious. You're onto something.”

Cory flourished his hand. “Exactly. So you're in?”

Truthfully, I wanted in. I was curious and would go stir-crazy sitting here alone in our quiet shop, listening for the phone to ring, surfing the Internet for car deals, and waiting for Cory to investigate alone and report back. On the other hand, I felt like a hypocrite. I'd told Isabelle it was wrong to have a private investigator follow Jack around, invading his privacy and undermining trust, and now here I thought it might be a good idea to snoop. What was the difference in this situation? The fact that Brennan was in jail, facing a trial and prison perhaps? Or that I believed Cory's theory might actually have some merit?

My doubts and concerns must have flashed across my face, because Cory started to look worried, too. “Aren't you going to help me, Jo?”

Ray would not be happy. I could hear him saying “Jolene” in that tone of voice he gets when he's annoyed. Was it really worth agitating him, particularly when the luscious and agreeable Catherine was back in the picture and only a phone call away?

Cory slumped in his chair. “It's okay. I understand. I don't want to cause trouble between you and Ray. In fact, Brennan may never speak to me again. But I just can't let him sit there alone in jail and do nothing. I'd rather have him out of jail, never speaking to me again, than visit him in prison every Sunday.”