Part 18 (1/2)
STELLA GOT INTO the pa.s.senger seat of the Smart car and, despite the seventy-degree weather, began to s.h.i.+ver.
Nick slid into the driver's seat and put an arm around his wife. ”You okay?”
”Yeah, it's just ... that woman's life is ruined. And it's all because we had to get involved.”
”We might have helped to bring things out into the open, but the only one who ruined Alice's life is Alice.”
”I know she's responsible for her own decisions, but she might have taken those secrets to her grave if we hadn't outed them. Now her husband might leave when he finds out, and she might go to jail, and her kids ... oh, her kids.”
”She couldn't have kept it all a secret forever, hon. But this is exactly why I suggested we take a hike this afternoon. I had a feeling when we went to see Alice that the ending wouldn't be a happy one.” He pulled his cell phone from inside his jacket and began pressing b.u.t.tons.
”What are you doing?”
”Calling Mills to tell him to send his men over here.”
”Oh, no, Nick! Don't call him now.”
”Why not? Once he talks to Alice, we're free to go back to camp, go on our hike, and have a leisurely dinner with Alma. Isn't that what you wanted-to move into our house and put this mess behind us?”
”I did. I do, but ...”
He pressed a few more b.u.t.tons before flinging the phone into the center console in disgust. ”You're in luck. I can't get a signal.”
”See? Divine intervention. Let's just go see the Brunelles, and then we can call Mills afterward with all our findings.”
”You want me to wait? And let Alice pack up her kids and skip town?”
”You heard her. She's not going anywhere.”
”And you believed her? Hon, she lied to a mortgage company, her husband, her kids, and the whole community. Oh, and-h.e.l.lo-she's a murderer.”
”I don't think she is.”
”Why? Because she says she isn't? Newsflash: prison is full of people who claim they're innocent.”
”I know that. I'm not naive. But Alice being the murderer doesn't quite fit. It leaves too many unanswered questions.”
”Like?”
”Like why was Weston's truck parked in the woods? Alice knew when our closing was going to take place, and she also knew that we weren't stopping by the house beforehand.”
”So?”
”So, if Alice was the killer, she didn't need to delay discovery of the body while she made her getaway. No one was going to the house until the closing was finished, and, if someone did, they would no doubt call ahead, since Alice was the only one who held the key.”
”Then Weston hid the truck himself.”
”If so, it wasn't to hide from Alice Broadman. Weston's secretary called Alice personally to confirm his arrival at the house that morning. He could have parked his truck in Utah and Alice still would have known he was at the house. No, if Weston hid his truck, it's because there was someone out there-someone other than Alice Broadman-that he didn't want to see. And I suspect that person is the killer.”
”I don't know, Stella. I think you're putting too much emphasis on the truck. Alice as the killer just seems right me. What about that threat she made toward Bunny?”
”Alice's life is falling apart, Nick. She's going to lash out, and since Bunny is the one who ratted her out, she's an obvious target.”
Nick shook his head slowly. ”I don't know ...”
”Okay, maybe I'm wrong about Alice, but I think we should at the very least talk to everyone in town and explore all the possibilities before we send the police breathing down her neck.”
After a long pause, Nick pulled a face and started the car. ”Which way to Jake Brunelle's shop?”
”Other side of town, by the trailer park.”
He nodded and pulled onto Main Street. ”So, just to check: Alice is still guilty of mortgage fraud, right?”
”Yes, Nick,” Stella chuckled. ”Yes, she is.”
Jake Brunelle's shop occupied a former train maintenance depot on the edge of town near the park. Bearing no address, signs, or other markings to distinguish the building, Nick pushed open the shabby, weather-beaten front door, allowing Stella to poke her head inside.
Betsy Brunelle, wearing a tight black sweater dress, red lipstick, and several coats of mascara, sat at a desk fas.h.i.+oned from an old door and two sawhorses. At the creak of the front door, Betsy turned away from her computer screen and peered over her shoulder. ”If you're looking for Brunelle Construction, you're in the right place.”
”Thanks, we weren't sure,” Stella explained.
”You're not the first. We've been meaning to put up the sign,” she motioned to a cardboard box the size of a queen mattress that stood against the wall behind her. ”Something else always comes up, though.”
The couple stepped inside and closed the door behind them.
”Hey, you're that guy I b.u.mped into this morning!”
Nick flashed his wife an I-told-you-so smirk before leaning forward to shake Betsy's hand. ”Yes, I am. Nick Buckley, and this is my wife, Stella.”
Betsy combed her shoulder-length chestnut-brown hair with her fingers before reaching a bangle-braceleted arm over her makes.h.i.+ft desk in greeting. ”I'm Betsy Brunelle, Jake's wife.”
”We know. Alma and Sheriff Mills told us your name when you stopped into the Sweet Shop yesterday morning.”
”You were there yesterday? No, you couldn't have been. I would have noticed someone like you.”
Stella cleared her throat and fought the urge to gag.
”I was there, sitting at the counter. You weren't in for very long, though-something about an estimate.”
”That's right. If I hadn't wrestled Jake away from Sheriff Mills, we would have missed it, too. So you were at the counter, huh? I can't believe I didn't see you. I must have been in a terrible hurry not to notice a handsome new man in town.”
Stella once again cleared her throat. ”Sorry, something keeps tickling me.”
”Would you like some water? I can-” She stopped what she was doing. ”Wait one minute: water ... well ... .you own the place where they found Allen Weston's body, don't you?”
”Unfortunately, yes.”
”Oh, that poor man. I swear this state needs stiffer gun laws. When anyone with a driver's license can get themselves a handgun, well, I can't believe we all aren't being murdered in our sleep.”