To Love and to Perish

TWENTY-EIGHT


CORY REPORTED TO WORK on Friday with a smile on his face and a spring in his step, the kind I only saw when one of two things happened for him. Since he hadn’t tried out for a part at the local Broadway-quality theater recently, I knew he was in love. Of course, he’d been in love with Brennan for a while now but reluctant to admit it, given his history of bad luck.

Cory dropped into the chair across from me and reached for the donut bag. “I have news.”

“Do tell.”

“I know Catherine said not to talk about the case, but Brennan told me a few things. First, he did meet Matthew Gleason when Matthew applied for a job with Brennan’s construction crew six months ago. Brennan just didn’t remember him, because his foreman spent most of the time talking to the kid. They didn’t offer him a job, because he didn’t have any experience and they really didn’t have any openings. Matthew seemed to take the rejection in stride, though. He thanked them very politely for their time.”

Cory popped the second half of a donut in his mouth and gulped it down. “He also said Matthew called him more recently.”

“Really?”

“Remember the night Brennan got the call and wouldn’t tell me who it was?”

I nodded.

“It was Matthew. He called to ask Brennan questions about Monica Gleason. Matthew said she was his mother, and he wanted to know more about her death.”

“Did he say who his father was?”

“No, and Brennan had no idea until Catherine told him what I thought. He asked me a lot of questions about Matthew.”

Cory brushed the cinnamon sugar dust from his hands into the trash. “He does not remember the night of the reunion at all. He said it’s possible Monica told him about Matthew. He said he would have wanted Matthew, just like I thought.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“He thought he might visit his father before it’s too late.”

“Really?”

Cory sipped from his coffee mug. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, but Brennan didn’t know until now that his father was dying. He doesn’t want him to go without at least saying goodbye.”

“Did he tell you anything else?”

A flush started at the base of Cory’s neck, crept upward, and suffused his face. “He said he wants to spend the rest of his life with me.”

Tears burned the corner of my eye. “Oh, Cory. That’s wonderful. Congratulations.”

“Thank you. I wanted you to be the first to know.”

A tear escaped and trickled down my cheek. “I’m honored. Oh, man, I’m so happy for you.” I hopped out of my chair and ran around the desk to hug Cory, who almost cracked one of my ribs with his enthusiasm.

He turned his head to swipe at his eyes then wiped his hand on his pants. “Okay, enough talking. I’m way behind on Mr. Belzer’s Jaguar. I gotta get to work.”

I sat in my chair and tried to do a little work myself, locating a new automobile for my showroom floor. When Mr. Linz picked up his Mercedes next week, I would have a gap to fill. None of the cars sitting outside in my parking lot merited being showcased inside the shop, at least not until Cory worked some magic restoring them. Another hot car to catch the eye of the passers-by was what I needed.

Two hours of surfing the Internet turned up a handful of possibilities to run past Cory. I walked into the garage and stopped next to his feet. He lay on his mechanic’s creeper under Mr. Belzer’s silver Jaguar. I could hear the wrench clinking against the car’s undercarriage as he worked.

“Cory, I sold the SLK 280 to Mr. Linz yesterday. I need an inventory replacement. What do you think of—”

The phone rang. I started around the front end of the Jag.

Cory slid out from under it faster, blocking my path. “I’ll get it. Brennan said he was going to call me this morning.” He stripped the surgical gloves from his hands and grabbed the extension.

I could tell from the smile on his face that the caller was Brennan. I headed back to my office to give Cory some privacy.

A couple minutes later, he appeared in my doorway. He leaned on the jam, frowning.

“Something wrong?”

“Brennan’s father died last night.”

“That’s too bad. How’s Brennan taking it?”

“Okay. He said his father’s lawyer called him earlier this morning to let him know. The lawyer is making all the funeral arrangements per his father’s last wishes. The funeral will be on Monday.”

“Should we go?”

Cory nodded. “We can ride with Brennan. He said his father would roll over in his grave to see Brennan and me there together.”

“I’ll bet.”

“His father did pay his bail, though. The lawyer said he wanted Brennan to be able to hear his will. He read it to him over the phone.”

“I thought he wrote Brennan out of the will. Did he have a change of heart?”

Cory came into the office and sat. “No.”

“He left Brennan nothing.”

“Exactly.”

“So why did Brennan need to hear the will read?”

Cory curled his lip. “Because his father left his money to Brennan’s progeny, if—and I’m quoting here—he ever manages to be a real man.”

“Ouch. What a jerk.”

“That’s putting it mildly. Brennan knew his father had put the progeny clause in the will when he wrote Brennan out years ago, but he didn’t know the exact wording of it. He said it was better that his father passed now before we know if Matthew is his grandson. He wouldn’t have wanted to give his father the satisfaction of knowing his line was carried on past Brennan.”

“Any idea how much Matthew will inherit if he is Brennan’s son?”

“About two million, plus property. Brennan’s father lost a ton of money when the stock market dropped.”

“Wow, that’s a lot of dough, almost too much for a young guy like Matthew. It could be overwhelming.”

“Brennan said Catherine is still trying to find out if Matthew is his son. Her investigator got the door slammed in his face at the Gleason house by Suzanne. He’s in Albany now, combing through birth and adoption records.”

“So we have to wait and see.”

Cory flexed his fingers, cracking a knuckle. “Brennan said he also got a call from the hospice in Albany at nine a.m. One of the caregivers said she had some personal things his father wanted to give him. She offered to drive up here to drop them off. Brennan almost told her not to bother.”

I knew hospice care meant peace, comfort, and dignity with quality individualized care. I didn’t realize they provided a delivery service, too. Hard to believe the old man inspired such loyal service.

“She said she was headed this way anyway to visit her daughter. She was leaving the hospice right after she called. He said she’d be here by noon at the latest. He’s going to call me afterward and let me know what she dropped off.”

I glanced at the clock. It read eleven a.m. One hour to wait to find out what the old man wanted delivered to Brennan. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be hurtful like his will.

I grabbed the sheet of printouts from my desk. “Do you have a minute for me to run through a few of these purchase options with you? I found a handful that look promising to replace the Benz.”

Cory settled back in his chair. “Go ahead.”

I read the highlights for a Mercedes, a Jaguar, a BMW, and a Maserati, located in Albany. Cory groaned at the mere suggestion he would have to drive that route again to look at the vehicle. “Pick something closer to home, Jo.”

I clicked through the screens on the computer. “The Porsche’s in Buffalo. The ad says it’s pristine.” Of course, they all say that, which was why Cory had to go look the cars over before we made a purchase decision. “Never seen winter. Silver on black leather. 66,000 km. Heated seats, traction control, alarm, dual air bags and side air bags, windstop, Xeon lights with washers, five-speed manual, clear 3M chip protector. Even includes a Porsche car cover.”

“I like that one. I can visit my parents at the same time. Maybe Brennan can ride along. I can introduce them.”

“Great. I’ll call and see if I can get you an appointment for next week. Is Tuesday okay?”

“Make it Friday or Saturday. I’ll spend the weekend.”

“Done.” I picked up the phone and dialed.

Ten minutes later Cory had an appointment for Friday night at seven o’clock. I didn’t like the time. It would be dark by then, and it was always best to look at a car in the daylight. Maybe Cory could stop in again the next morning if he liked what he saw at night.

My stomach growled. I glanced at the clock. Was eleven forty-five too early to think about lunch? The little donuts we ate each morning tasted delicious but they didn’t last long in the tummy.

I wondered if Brennan was waiting anxiously for the hospice worker to arrive. If she stopped for lunch, she’d be that much later. Was Brennan as curious as me to learn what she was bringing? It was awfully nice of her to drive the five hours from Albany to drop it off. Cory and I drove there twice in the last week. Now we never wanted to make the drive again.

My heels tapped the showroom floor as I headed into the garage.

I got halfway there when I stopped. It was almost five and a half hours from Wachobe to Albany, taking the most direct route the GPS provided. Yet the hospice worker who called Brennan said she would be here in less than three.

I raced into the garage, grabbed Cory by the ankles, and yanked him out from under the car.

He appeared, flat on his back, wrench in hand, a stunned expression on his face. “Jo, are you crazy?”

“You said the hospice was in Albany, right?”

His brow furrowed. “Yes. So?”

“According to Brennan, the hospice worker left there at nine a.m., right?”

“Yes.”

“She’s supposed to be here by noon, right?”

“Yes.” The light dawned in his eyes. “She can’t get here that fast, not driving anyway.”

He jumped to his feet. “Where’s she coming from, Jo?”

“Binghamton is doable in less than three hours.”

“We should have known a hospice worker wouldn’t drive all the way here. Who do you think it is?”

“I think it’s Beth Smith. She must know about the money. No wonder she’s in a hurry to elope with Matthew. She must know he’s Brennan’s son and she must know about the will.”

Cory stripped the gloves from his hands and picked up the phone. “Let me call Brennan.”

I watched his face as he waited for Brennan to pick up. And the fear that washed across it when he didn’t.

“Try his cell.”

Cory punched in the number and waited. “Still no answer.”

“I don’t like it, Cory. Let’s go over there. The worst thing that can happen is Brennan will laugh at us.”

We rushed out the side door from the garage to the parking lot, leaving the building unlocked in our haste.

A gust of wind hit me in the face. The day had turned cold, the skies overcast. I climbed into the passenger seat of Cory’s BMW and struggled against the wind to close the door. As soon as I got it shut, he hit the gas, jolting us backward into the lot. He threw the car in drive and took off.

He pulled out of the parking lot onto Main Street, tires squealing, nearly colliding with a laundry service truck trying to parallel park. Too late I remembered how Cory’s driving deteriorated under duress.

I grabbed the seat belt and pulled it tight over my chest, clicking it in place. Then I braced myself against the dashboard as Cory blew through a red light. Thankfully it was a T intersection and the traffic was coming from the other side. They had time to stop, horns blowing, as Cory’s BMW brushed in front of them.

I wished I’d thought to bring my cell phone with me so I could call Ray to meet us. Of course, with the way Cory was driving, someone was bound to report us to the authorities anyway.

He hung a hard right onto the county lake road where Brennan built his cottage. A semi blew past us from the oncoming lane, no doubt on its way around Wachobe. Cory’s BMW rocked in its wake and I feared we might turn over.

We didn’t.

Cory hit the gas. We fishtailed. I clung to the door handle as he powered through it.

Swaying bushes, bent trees, vacant cottages, and glimpses of white caps on the lake flew past my window as I tried to hold onto my stomach contents. Thank god I’d only eaten one of those tiny donuts.

Cory accelerated. I glanced at the speedometer. He was going eighty and driving up the middle of the road instead of staying in his lane. We might not get a chance to look like fools in front of Brennan if we came face to face with another semi at this speed.

Three miles passed in a minute. He slammed on the brakes and we swung wide, narrowly missing Brennan’s mailbox.

I stifled a scream.

Cory roared up the driveway and hit the brakes.

My head almost collided with the windshield.

He flung open his door and raced onto the deck surrounding Brennan’s stunning cedar cottage.

I chased after Cory, thinking we should proceed more cautiously.

But his fear for Brennan overcame his common sense. He tried the front door and found it locked. He rang the doorbell wildly.

I heard it ringing inside the house over the wind, which gusted around the side of the house, pushing me off balance and swirling the new fallen leaves into mini tornadoes.

Cory started around the side of the house. “I’ll try the back door. Wait here.”

A few seconds passed. I wrapped my suit jacket more tightly about my chest and peeked in the etched windows alongside the gold trimmed oak door, noticing nothing amiss. Then I glanced back toward the road and spotted a Honda Accord parked in the county road past Brennan’s driveway.

Beth Smith was here.

A chill unrelated to the wind flowed through me.

Hurried footsteps approached from inside the house. The door flew open.

I turned to see who had opened the door.

And found myself face to face with the barrel of a gun.