• Four •

Andy picked up pizza, dog food, and the canine version of Satan, whose real name turned out to be Brutus, and who was a mix between a Rottweiler and a Doberman. Fortunately Jenn had introduced Andy to Brutus, and anyone who had been cleared by her was okay by Brutus. I, however, was a different story. Brutus was in my fenced backyard howling at the moon and the neighbor’s cat. He and I would find a way to come to terms tomorrow when the sun was up, and I was armed with a steak bone.

Mia had picked at a piece of pizza and proclaimed herself stuffed before bounding up the stairs to her room with her phone glued to her ear. I had given her food and shelter; as far as I was concerned, my duty was fulfilled for the night. Ben could take her to Irene’s tomorrow, and all would be well enough with my life again.

Except for the pesky rumor about being a murderess.

“Well, I know you didn’t do it,” Andy said, sitting beside me on the couch scarfing his fifth piece of pizza and fending off Gus, which was no easy task. “You didn’t even know Ben was going out with her, so what would your motive be?”

“Right. I didn’t know, and you sure didn’t tell me.” I gave him the evil eye but had to look away to grab a paper plate from Dingle and Dangle that they were playing tug-of-war with. “Anyway, Ben says they weren’t dating.”

That made Andy look a little nervous. He almost choked on his pizza. “Oh. Well then, you’re definitely in the clear.”

There was something more he wasn’t telling me. Something he knew. “Out with it, Beaumont. What do you know?”

He shook his head, making his shoulder-length auburn curls sway. “Nothing. There’s nothing.”

The phone rang, saving him from further interrogation. I got up and went into the kitchen to answer it. In the corner, Isobel lifted her head and growled at me, harmonizing with the hum of the fridge. Crabby old lady. Speaking of crabby old ladies, Irene’s name and number flashed on the caller ID, making me want to bash my head against the counter. “Hello, Irene,” I said, answering.

“I forgot to tell you something earlier,” she said. “I’m sending some men over to collect the weathervane tomorrow, so don’t be alarmed if you hear them on your roof.”

For the past six months, ever since Ben moved out, my mother-in-law had been trying to take her house back one piece at a time. A vintage chandelier, a pair of antique andirons shaped like owls—which I had particularly liked—a gilded mirror from the foyer wall that was hung the day the first Ellsworths moved in … and now the weathervane.

I glanced out the window to where Brutus was barking his brains out, muzzle thrown back and eyes blazing up into a tall chestnut tree in the middle of the yard. Whoever she dispatched to do her dirty work would have to make it past a solid mass of teeth, muscle, and claw to get that weathervane. “That’s fine, Irene. Send them over.” I clicked off with a giddiness bubbling in my stomach. Serves her right.

Back in the family room, Andy had his video camera hooked up to the TV. “I want to show you the latest shoot from the castle,” he said. “Finch knows a religious antiquities dealer from Indianapolis. He’s authenticated a lot of Finch’s collection. He had him come in and comment on some of his pieces on film today. It’s pretty interesting.”

“I’m eager to have my mind occupied by anything at all other than Ben, Jenn Berg, Irene, or Mia.” I curled my feet up under me on the couch for the show. “The weathervane goes tomorrow.”

Andy shook with laughter. “Poor Stewart’s going to be up on their roof in the storm that’s on its way, screwing that thing down while she yells at him from under her umbrella that it’s crooked.”

It was a pretty accurate visual that he conjured in my mind, and I couldn’t help but chuckle picturing it. “The poor man. She’s a menace. I feel sorry for him for marrying her.” Of course, if he hadn’t, Ben wouldn’t exist. I wasn’t sure how I felt about Ben’s nonexistence at this point, other than preferring not to think about it at all.

The clip was unedited and jumpy, with Andy making Carl and the antiquities dealer, Dennis Stoddard, stop and repeat things every now and then. Carl seemed like he was acting, and not in a good way, and Stoddard was all too enthusiastic about repeating his appraisal of a South American Virgin Mary statue over and over as many times as it took. I yawned, hugely, not able to hold it back.

“You know,” Andy said, “I bet Dennis Stoddard could tell you what some of the things around here are worth before you go and let Irene take them out of the house.”

“I’m sure Irene knows exactly what each nook and cranny in this house is worth, but you might be on to something. She’s had her eye on that Saint Francis birdbath beside the shed. Maybe I can sweet-talk this antiques guy into giving me a value for it before she gets her greedy hands on it. Will Atkins thinks it’s worth about a grand, but he doesn’t specialize in religious antiques, so it might even be more.” Will Atkins, from Schoolhouse Antiques, specialized in old records, anything Native American, and whatever else struck his fancy, by the looks of his antique shop. It was like living next door to a perpetual garage sale.

Andy stretched his arms out across the back of the couch. “Don’t let Briggs hear about Stoddard looking at your birdbath. The bad blood between him and Atkins is enough. His jealousy doesn’t need to run clear to Indianapolis, too.”

Jefferson Briggs owned Court House Antiques, right across the canal from Atkins’s School House Antiques. They were the Hatfield and McCoy of Metamora, Briggs calling Atkins a junk dealer, Atkins calling Briggs an overpriced snob. They went to the same auctions and ran up each other’s bids out of spite. The whole town knew their competitive streak was out of hand, but nobody knew what to do about it.

The phone rang again. “What does she want this time?” I said, pushing myself up off the couch.

“Blood would be my guess,” Andy said, laughing.

But it wasn’t Irene this time. It was Johnna. “I talked to Soapy,” she said. “The play is on hold for now. They’re having a meeting tomorrow night to decide what to do.”

“Well, I guess we’ll stop reserving tickets. Don’t worry though, I’ll figure out something for you guys to get your service hours in.”

She let out a groan. “Of course you will.”

“See you tomorrow, Johnna.” I hung up feeling like I’d been standing on a breaking point all day and couldn’t get my feet to move. If I wasn’t careful, I’d fall right down into the earth and get swallowed alive. Somehow finding a dead body led to me being a suspect (although not an official one until I could talk to Reins without throwing up), finding out about Ben seeing another woman (even if he didn’t call it dating), getting Mia overnight (fingers crossed it was only one night), adopting five crazy (one of them very dangerous) dogs, and the play being put on hold, which meant I had to figure out something for my phone crew to do before tomorrow.

What I needed was a way of finding out what really happened to Jenn Berg. Was she killed, pushed, or did she simply slip into the canal and hit her head?

That was when the best idea of all time struck.

I’d use my phone crew to make calls to everyone in town, questioning them on what they might have seen or heard that could help with the case. They’d get their hours in, and I might get myself off the hook as a possible suspect. Two birds, one stone.

Ben would hate it. He’d forbid me to do it.

I grabbed another cookie from the pantry and munched resolutely. Ben would have to get over it. I had my good name to clear, and the town had a show to put on if it wanted to salvage its own good reputation.

Mia refused to get up the next morning. Chances were, she’d been up all night texting friends. When Ben arrived at nine thirty, he looked like he’d woken up in a nightmare. I guess he kind of had.

“I’m glad Mia’s still asleep,” he said, taking my arm and leading me into the kitchen. “I need to talk to you.”

Oh God. Something bad had happened, other than Jenn Berg’s possible murder; I could feel it in my bones. “Coffee first,” I said, unable to deal with life before two cups.

He ambled over to the French door that led out to the back patio. “Why is there a dog in the backyard?”

I opened the cupboard, disturbing the old crab, Isobel, who bared her teeth at me. I needed to let her and the other three outside, but I was afraid I’d lose a leg if I opened the door. “There are five,” I said. “I took Jenn’s dogs.”

“You did? Why?”

“Someone had to.”

Ben slumped against the door, scowling at me and keeping a watchful eye on Isobel. “This is your way of showing you’re innocent. Am I right?”

“They think I’m a murderer, Ben. Because you were … They think I have a motive.” I poured a generous amount of coffee into the biggest mug I could find and stared out the window over the sink. Brutus was digging to China via the backyard. “I’m not good at having people hate me for something I had no part in.”

“I’m sorry.” He walked around the counter, grasped me by my upper arms and stared down into my eyes with the most concerned, sincere gaze I’d ever seen on Ben. “Whatever you hear today, I had nothing to do with it. You have to believe that.”

My stomach fell to my feet. “What am I going to hear today?”

He dropped my arms and turned from me. “They ruled Jenn’s death a murder. I’m a suspect.”

“You? Why would you be a suspect? Everyone in town thinks the two of you were going out.”

Ben spun back around and banged his hand down on the counter. “Because I’m still married. Because she was pregnant.”

My ears rang with the word. Pregnant. Pregnant.

“It wasn’t mine, Cam. That’s what you have to believe.”

During the whirlwind time before we were married, Ben told me he didn’t want another child, that Mia was enough, and he was too old to be the father of an infant. At thirty-six, I’d come to believe I’d never get married or have kids. Having already resigned myself to that fact, it wasn’t difficult to accept. But Jenn Berg had been pregnant when she died. Jenn Berg, who had been doing something with Ben even if he didn’t call it dating.

“If it wasn’t yours, then whose? Everyone knows you and Jenn Berg were—doing whatever together. How can I believe—”

“Because it’s the truth!” he said, shoving his fingers through his hair. “I drove her home from the Cornerstone one night when her car wouldn’t start. After that, she cooked me dinner as a thank-you. We became friends. We went to a movie. We had drinks. That’s all. Friends. Making a baby takes a lot more than that.”

“You never did that with her?” My head spun, and I sat down at the kitchen table.

“I never even kissed her, Cam. I swear to you. The only thing I ever talked to her about was you and how I screwed up and had to find a way back.”

I looked up at him, trying to see the man I knew. The police officer. The workaholic. The father who wanted Mia to come stay more often. The man who was married to me, not taking other women to dinner and movies. My view of him split in two, like twin Bens stood in front of me. Mine and some other person I didn’t know anymore. “How were you going to find your way back to me through her? That doesn’t make sense, Ben.”

He shook his head. “I wanted her perspective.”

“A twenty-five-year-old woman who was never married? Her perspective?”

“She was a good listener and—” Footsteps jogged down the stairs. Mia was up. She dashed into the kitchen in a t-shirt with a cartoon pony on the front and rainbow striped pajama pants with her long, dark hair tousled from sleep—the picture of innocence—and dove into Ben’s arms. “Daddy!”

Jenn Berg had been just one more young woman who had Ben totally bamboozled.