and everyone had a cup, though no one seemed to be thirsty. The ritual of mixing in honey and milk kept them busy but not nearly long enough.
Brenna had no idea what time it was when the investigators finally rolled a stretcher with a zipped-up body bag to the waiting van. The trunk was put into another vehicle and slowly the floodlights were dismantled. The yellow crime scene tape, however, stayed as a temporary marker.
Chief Barker told them that he would be in touch if he had more questions, but for now they were free to go. An awkwardness fell over the group, and Brenna wondered if, like her, no one was eager to be alone.
Twyla was the first to stand up. She gathered her teapot and cups onto a large wooden breakfast tray that Brenna had decoupaged for her a few months before. It was covered with cutouts of large bunches of grapes in hues of luscious red and luminous purple, and entwined with twisty rust-colored vines and deep green leaves. It was one of Brenna’s favorite pieces and she was gratified to see Twyla using it.
“Well, I think some shut-eye is in order,” Twyla said.
“You’re right,” Paul agreed. He shook his head, as if trying to shake off the stupor he was in. He stood and held out his hand to help Portia to her feet. “There’s nothing more we can do tonight.”
“Do you want us to walk you back to your cabin?” Twyla asked Brenna.
“I’ll take her,” Nate volunteered before Brenna could answer.
“Oh, all right. Good night then,” Twyla said. The three of them walked slowly back to their cabins, calling out their good nights and giving the part of the lake roped off by the yellow plastic ribbon a wide berth.
Brenna rose to her feet. She supposed she could have told Nate that she didn’t need an escort, but that would have been a lie.
She had come to Morse Point to leave the violent crime of Boston behind. She had thought she’d left the demons of her past there in the city, but no. Here she was again being terrorized by violent crime. She felt sick to her stomach and wondered if she’d ever sleep again.
Every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was the mayor’s bloated face and the water gushing out of his mouth when she sat him up. A shudder rippled down her spine.
“Are you all right?” Nate asked. He moved to stand beside her.
“No, not really,” she said.
He draped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. The feel of his solid warmth comforted her, and Brenna soaked it up like a dried-out sponge. He kept his arm around her as they walked down the steps and across the yard. She noticed he was steering her away from the crime scene and she was grateful. Hank followed behind them, emitting a low growl when they passed by the lake.
When they reached her front porch, Nate removed his arm and the night’s chill crept into his place, enfolding Brenna in its cold embrace. She shivered. Hank trotted up onto the steps and sat beside her.
“Do you want to keep Hank for the night?” he asked.
“Can I?”
“I don’t think you have a choice,” he said with a rueful smile.
Hank was leaning against her, as if offering his support, and Brenna reached down to rub his ears. Having Hank around would make the night so much more bearable.
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” she asked.
“Not at all,” he said. “Hank knows who needs him the most. You had quite a scare tonight.”
The breeze picked up one of Brenna’s long curls, tossing it about her face as if playing catch with it. Nate reached up and tucked it behind her ear. His gaze was full of concern and it warmed Brenna from the inside out.
“I still can’t believe it,” she said. “How could this have happened?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I was no fan of Ripley’s—in fact, I thought he was a complete boob—but I sure never wished for this.”
“Wished for what?” she asked. She knew what he meant, but she wanted to hear him utter the words. She wanted someone else to say
Brenna had no idea what time it was when the investigators finally rolled a stretcher with a zipped-up body bag to the waiting van. The trunk was put into another vehicle and slowly the floodlights were dismantled. The yellow crime scene tape, however, stayed as a temporary marker.
Chief Barker told them that he would be in touch if he had more questions, but for now they were free to go. An awkwardness fell over the group, and Brenna wondered if, like her, no one was eager to be alone.
Twyla was the first to stand up. She gathered her teapot and cups onto a large wooden breakfast tray that Brenna had decoupaged for her a few months before. It was covered with cutouts of large bunches of grapes in hues of luscious red and luminous purple, and entwined with twisty rust-colored vines and deep green leaves. It was one of Brenna’s favorite pieces and she was gratified to see Twyla using it.
“Well, I think some shut-eye is in order,” Twyla said.
“You’re right,” Paul agreed. He shook his head, as if trying to shake off the stupor he was in. He stood and held out his hand to help Portia to her feet. “There’s nothing more we can do tonight.”
“Do you want us to walk you back to your cabin?” Twyla asked Brenna.
“I’ll take her,” Nate volunteered before Brenna could answer.
“Oh, all right. Good night then,” Twyla said. The three of them walked slowly back to their cabins, calling out their good nights and giving the part of the lake roped off by the yellow plastic ribbon a wide berth.
Brenna rose to her feet. She supposed she could have told Nate that she didn’t need an escort, but that would have been a lie.
She had come to Morse Point to leave the violent crime of Boston behind. She had thought she’d left the demons of her past there in the city, but no. Here she was again being terrorized by violent crime. She felt sick to her stomach and wondered if she’d ever sleep again.
Every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was the mayor’s bloated face and the water gushing out of his mouth when she sat him up. A shudder rippled down her spine.
“Are you all right?” Nate asked. He moved to stand beside her.
“No, not really,” she said.
He draped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. The feel of his solid warmth comforted her, and Brenna soaked it up like a dried-out sponge. He kept his arm around her as they walked down the steps and across the yard. She noticed he was steering her away from the crime scene and she was grateful. Hank followed behind them, emitting a low growl when they passed by the lake.
When they reached her front porch, Nate removed his arm and the night’s chill crept into his place, enfolding Brenna in its cold embrace. She shivered. Hank trotted up onto the steps and sat beside her.
“Do you want to keep Hank for the night?” he asked.
“Can I?”
“I don’t think you have a choice,” he said with a rueful smile.
Hank was leaning against her, as if offering his support, and Brenna reached down to rub his ears. Having Hank around would make the night so much more bearable.
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” she asked.
“Not at all,” he said. “Hank knows who needs him the most. You had quite a scare tonight.”
The breeze picked up one of Brenna’s long curls, tossing it about her face as if playing catch with it. Nate reached up and tucked it behind her ear. His gaze was full of concern and it warmed Brenna from the inside out.
“I still can’t believe it,” she said. “How could this have happened?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I was no fan of Ripley’s—in fact, I thought he was a complete boob—but I sure never wished for this.”
“Wished for what?” she asked. She knew what he meant, but she wanted to hear him utter the words. She wanted someone else to say
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