Stuck on Murder (2 page)

Brenna and Tenley Morse had remained good friends since their years together at Boston University. When Tenley heard her former roommate was looking to leave the city, she had offered her a clerking position at Vintage Papers.

Brenna had accepted the offer and never looked back. She had transitioned easily from working at an art gallery in Boston to selling specialty papers in Morse Point.

Knowing how much Brenna loved to decoupage, Tenley let her sell some of her creations in the shop and had her teaching decoupage classes in the evening. They had developed quite a devoted little group over the past few months, although Brenna suspected it was gossip the ladies came for more than the art of decoupage. No matter. She was getting paid to do something she loved. Life didn’t get much better than that.

She opened her box and began placing plain white birdhouses at each seat. They had eight ladies signed up for the ongoing class, and every week they tried to tackle a new project.

“Birdhouses?”

Brenna turned to see Cynthia Ripley, the mayor’s wife, and her best friend, Phyllis Portsmyth, enter the store. Given Cynthia’s condescending tone, she wondered if she should have accepted Tenley’s offer of a glass of wine.

“Why, hello, Cynthia, Phyllis,” Brenna greeted the two ladies.

They were the picture of middle-aged chic: rail thin with bobbed blond hair that was stacked in the back, and wearing a diamond at every pulse point. Phyllis was known for the five-carat yellow Portsmyth sparkler she wore on her right ring finger, while Cynthia favored a four-carat pink diamond pendant.

In color-coordinated Ann Taylor outfits, the only difference Brenna could spot between them was that Phyllis had an air of entitlement—she came from old money and had married old money—which Cynthia lacked.

According to the Porter sisters, Cynthia had clawed her way out of a hard life in Dorchester and up the social ladder by marrying Jim Ripley, whom she then pushed into politics. Once Jim was elected, Cynthia had attached herself to Phyllis and slowly metamorphosed into an imitation of her new friend, with the same clothes, hairdo, and patronizing tone. But no matter how much Joy perfume Cynthia spritzed on, she would never be able to cover up the smell of desperation that surrounded her. It was their one true difference, to Brenna’s eye. Well, that and Phyllis had bigger boobs. More money will do that for a girl.

“Honestly, birdhouses?” Cynthia said again.

“Yes, don’t you think that’s a bit pedestrian?” Phyllis asked. The two women looked at Brenna with matching expressions of disdain.

Looking past them, she could see the rest of the ladies, including the Porter twins, file into the shop, watching the exchange with avid interest.

“Perhaps,” Brenna said.

Tenley was making gagging motions behind Phyllis’s back, and Brenna quickly looked away so she wouldn’t laugh. There was no love lost between Tenley Morse and Phyllis Portsmyth, as their families had vied for the position of most powerful family in Morse Point for generations.

Brenna had one more birdhouse in the box that was her own creation. She had made it to give the class an idea of what theirs could look like when they were finished. She lifted it out of the box and released it from its bubble wrap cocoon. She heard someone gasp and felt herself flush with pleasure. It had come out extraordinarily well, if she did say so herself.

She placed the birdhouse in the center of the large worktable and stood back to watch the ladies crowd around it. She had used many of Tenley’s collectible papers as well as a few from her own personal reserve. Around the house fluttered colorful cutout butterflies in various sizes while the roof had been decorated with layers of old seed packets that featured pen and ink drawings of flowers.

“That is just charming,” Ella Porter declared.

“More than charming,” Marie corrected her. “It is outstanding.”

Ella gave her a dark look. The elderly twins were known to be a tad competitive, even when it came to doling out praise.

“It is said,” Brenna stated, loudly enough so that the entire room could hear her, “that Marie Antoinette and her Court favored flowers and butterflies for their birdhouses, but if you think that’s too pedestrian, I’m sure we can come up with something else.”

Phyllis let out a sniff and said, “Obviously, you misunderstood me.”

Cynthia Ripley gave a similar sniff and followed her friend to the refreshment table for a glass of wine.

“That’s telling ’em,” Tenley whispered in her ear as she moved to stand beside her. “So, did Marie Antoinette really decorate birdhouses?”

“I don’t know if she did birdhouses exactly, but she was a known decouper,” Brenna whispered back. “She and her friends were quite passionate about it.”

Tenley leaned back and grinned at her. “You are just a perfect fit here, aren’t you?”

Brenna glanced around Tenley’s shop. It was a full sensory experience. Racks of handmade papers lined one wall in an explosion of color, books of paper samples were stacked on another table, and the rest of the room was stocked with shelves of glue, paint, markers, and scissors. She loved the woodsy smell of the handmade papers as well as the feel of them, from the satiny finishes to the chunky matte sheets with flowers embedded in them. Her fingers positively itched to create something clever. Vintage Papers was one of her favorite places to be.

“I belong in the shop,” she agreed. “It’s the rest of Morse Point I’m not so sure about.”

“Don’t worry.” Tenley patted her arm. “A few more months here and we’ll rinse that city stink off of you.”

Brenna gave her an alarmed look and Tenley laughed at her as she made her way back to the refreshment table.

Tenley had been born and raised in Morse Point. In fact, the town was named for Tenley’s family. With her long blond hair and friendly, wide smile, Tenley was liked by everyone in town. Well, everyone except Phyllis Portsmyth and her two girls. They resented the ease with which Tenley was embraced as the town’s favorite daughter.

But truly, why wouldn’t she be? Tenley had been the homecoming queen, class president, and a varsity tennis player. She spent weekends bringing meals and her sunny disposition to the homebound elderly, and she volunteered at the local home for troubled youth. She really was an amazing person, and Brenna was grateful to be her friend. Tenley had given her a place to run to when she needed to get away, and Brenna was glad that she could contribute something to Tenley’s store to help make it a success.

She waited while her class fortified themselves with crackers, Brie, and bubbling glasses of Riesling. Once all of her students were settled in their seats, she circled the table to watch as they selected their materials from the papers and cuttings that Tenley had laid out.

A couple of the women chose the ivy garland and set to work cutting out the intricate pattern, while others chose the lilacs and bluebirds. The room became hushed as the women snipped at their chosen patterns.

“Let go!” Ella Porter snapped at her twin.

“I will not,” Marie balked. “I had it first.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Here we go again,” Brenna whispered to Tenley. “Are they too big to be put in time-out?”

Tenley managed to turn her snort into a cough, while Brenna hustled over to the twins.

“Ladies, I am sure we have another sunflower in the back. Let me just borrow this one to match it,” Brenna said.

She tried to take the sunflower, but neither one would let go. She gave a gentle tug, but they both tightened their grip, and Brenna wondered if she would have to pry their fingers off one at a time.

The bells hanging on the front door gave a terse jangle, and everyone turned to see who had yanked open the door. Brenna used the moment to snatch the sunflower out of the ladies’ hands. They both gave her a put-out look, but she just smiled and turned to the door.

Jim Ripley, the town mayor, entered the shop. His clothes were rumpled and his comb-over had flopped onto to the wrong side of his head, making him look like a lopsided rooster. He was also red from his forehead to his jowls, adding to his gallinaceous appearance. He scanned the room, passing over all of the women until he saw Brenna.

“It’s imperative that I speak with you,” he said.

Chapter 2

Brenna stared at the mayor. Aware that the entire room was watching her, she forced a smile. She did not want to give the Porter twins even more to gossip about.

“Ahem.” Cynthia Ripley cleared her throat.

The mayor cast her a cursory glance, barely removing his eyes from Brenna, who had no idea what to say. He sidled over to the table, still watching Brenna, as he leaned over and kissed the side of Phyllis’s cheek with gusto.

“Jim!” Cynthia snapped while Phyllis blushed to the roots of her bottle blond hair.

“What? Oh!” Mayor Ripley looked away from Brenna and saw his wife glowering at him while her friend flushed with embarrassment. His practiced politician’s smile lost some of its luster. “Oh, I am so sorry, my dear. Pardon me, Phyllis. I thought you were . . . oh, dear.”

“Really, Jim, I should think you’d know your own wife,” Cynthia snapped.

He looked like a chastened schoolboy as he leaned forward to peck Cynthia’s rigid cheek. “Of course, dearest, so sorry. Again, Phyllis, forgive me. I have some business to discuss with Ms. Miller, and then I’ll be on my way.”

“Of course,” Brenna said, feeling bad for him. Honestly, she wasn’t sure
she’d
be able to tell the difference between the two women from behind. “Shall we step outside?”

“Excellent,” Mayor Ripley said. His polished public grin was back in place and at full wattage. “After you.”

Brenna led the way out into the cool April evening. There was a dampness to the air that promised rain overnight. The old-fashioned streetlamps that surrounded the square cast large pools of golden light, and she could see moths dancing in and out of their glow.

She glanced through the window of Vintage Papers and saw Tenley trying to get the class back on task, but the ladies had all stopped what they were doing to watch Brenna and Mayor Ripley.

He followed her gaze and said, “Perhaps we should walk.”

Brenna fell into step beside him. Mayor Ripley was a stocky man, who came up only to her ear, so she shortened her stride to match his. He wore a white dress shirt with the cuffs rolled back to his elbows and a pair of navy blue suspenders, which kept his creased dress slacks hovering just below the pronounced bulge of his belly. His tie was loose, the knot hanging beneath the open neck of his shirt. She got the feeling he was agitated about something, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what it had to do with her.

“I’m going to get right to the point,” he said. “How well do you know your landlord, Nate Williams?”

Okay, she hadn’t seen that one coming. Her face must have shown her surprise as Mayor Ripley continued hurriedly, “You’ve lived in one of his cabins on the lake for how long now?”

“A little over a year.”

“Ed Johnson told me that you and Nate Williams are friends,” he said. He studied her out of the corner of his eye, and Brenna knew he was looking for confirmation of this information. Well, he wasn’t going to get it.

“Why would you be talking to Ed Johnson about Nate Williams and me?” she asked. She tried to keep the irritation out of her tone, but it was difficult. Somehow, when the Porter sisters talked about her, it was amusing, but when it was the mayor and the editor of the local newspaper, she felt violated.

“Nate Williams has been buying up property around Morse Point Lake for the past few years,” he said. “This is property that could be used for greater benefit for the town.”

“Like building a park?” she asked, trying to understand.

“Yes, like a park,” the mayor said. He nodded with enthusiasm. They reached the corner of the street and turned back toward the shop, when he added, “Only privately owned.”

“I don’t understand,” she said. “How can a privately owned park benefit the town?”

“Revenue, my dear, it all comes down to revenue,” he said.

“I’m not sure I’m following,” she said, although she was starting to get a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“If Williams sells some of the lots he’s bought around the lake to the town, then we can sell them to a developer, who can put in vacation town houses,” he said. “The tax revenue alone would give the town a real shot in the arm, not to mention an increased customer base for local businesses like your friend Miss Tenley’s paper shop.”

“And you’re talking to me about this because . . . ?” She let the question dangle.

“Ed says you know Williams better than anyone. In fact, he says you’re the only person he talks to in all of Morse Point.”