To Love and to Perish - By Lisa Bork Page 0,13

for future reference in making my own purchase decisions as to which pre-owned but pristine cars I wanted to offer for sale through my dealership. But today, all I could think of was James Gleason and Brennan Rowe … and the news about them I had yet to share with Cory.

Yesterday James Gleason’s life had ended in a split second. Either he’d been accidently bumped off the sidewalk or someone had pushed him. Hard to believe the crime could have been premeditated. How would anyone know he’d be on that corner in just the right position and at just the right time to shove him off the curb? I didn’t see how Brennan could have known it, nor had Brennan ever struck me as one to act on impulse. Of course, I didn’t know what the two of them had been arguing so hot and heavy about either. Maybe Brennan had been angrier than he appeared. Only the two of them would know—and maybe the woman in the hot pink raincoat. Perhaps she could provide answers. Maybe she’d seen something.

Then again, maybe she’d taken off in the other direction and, like me, witnessed absolutely nothing.

The one thing I did know was Brennan had been walking away from Gleason, not toward him, the last time I saw. I just didn’t know if Gleason had chased after Brennan, enraging him or threatening him to the point where he’d decided to give Gleason a little shove. Could Brennan have killed Gleason by accident? Again, I liked to believe not, but I supposed Cory might be able to shed some light on whether Brennan had any sort of temper or not. He and I would have a long talk later at home.

The auctioneer’s assistants rolled my MG in front of the podium. I started to edge closer, not wanting to miss a moment of the bidding.

My cell phone rang.

Annoyed at the interruption, I snapped it open, my thoughts and eyes on the auctioneer.

“I saw the news. What’s going on with Brennan?”

It took me a second to recognize the voice of my close friend and college roommate, Isabelle Branch. Isabelle lived in the city an hour from Wachobe, where her husband, Jack, ran a jewelry store and she operated an advertising agency. She had created my sports car boutique’s advertising campaign and even done some ads for Brennan recently. Her daughter, Cassidy, was my godchild.

“Nothing good.” I sidled to the edge of the crowd and covered my other ear so I could hear her better. “What have you seen on TV?”

She recounted the contents of both broadcasts I had viewed. “They’re saying a third person was injured in the accident that killed Monica Gleason.”

“Really? Who?”

“Some woman who didn’t want to be identified at the time.”

“Interesting. I wonder if the press will out her now.”

“No doubt if they can, they will. How’s Cory holding up?”

“Not well. Brennan didn’t want to see him or have him involved in any way. He wouldn’t even let Cory get an attorney for him.”

“Oh, he’s got an attorney. I thought you guys called her.”

“Who?”

“Catherine Thomas.”

A sick feeling welled in my stomach. The beautiful Catherine Thomas was a highly respected defense attorney in New York State. She was also the woman Ray took up with during the last year of our three-year separation, attracted to her as he was to me because of our resemblance to his favorite actress, Valerie Bertinelli. She even had Valerie’s same long hairstyle, while I had bobbed mine years ago. Although Catherine had been extremely helpful and supportive to us in the past, the thought of having her around again made me queasy. No one likes to be confronted with a woman her husband once slept with, especially a woman like Catherine, who I had to admit had it all goin’ on, unlike me, who more often had it all goin’ south.

“Wonderful.”

“Sorry, thought you knew.”

“I didn’t.” But now that I did, it was one more thing to worry about that was completely out of my control.

“Well, join the club. You’re not the only one in the dark.”

Martin Feeder chose that moment to slam his auction mallet down on the block. I jumped three inches in the air then frantically listened for the MG’s final sale price. Naturally, he didn’t repeat it. I’d have to wait until I hung up to find out. Besides, Isabelle’s words had sounded bitter, quite unlike her usual personality. My antennae went up.

“What do you mean? Who else is in the dark?”

Silence.

I pulled