To Love and to Perish - By Lisa Bork Page 0,44

over when I lunged for my paddle. I told you canoes are tippy, but you wouldn’t listen. I told you I didn’t want to go canoeing. I told Maury I didn’t want to go. No one ever listens to me, except Mom.”

Only my sister would gloss over a body. “I’m definitely listening now, Erica. What body are you talking about?”

“The dead guy floating facedown in the lake. Actually, he was rolling with the waves on the shoreline, with a big gash in his forehead. Now he’s on shore, like a beached whale. Poor guy, I think it’s going to be a closed casket funeral.”

I cringed. “Who is he?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen him before. He looks like a politician. Blue suit, white shirt, maroon striped tie. He’s wearing black shoes, wingtips.”

That oh-so-familiar sick feeling washed through me. “Where did you find him?”

“He was lodged under a low-lying branch a few yards north of Brennan’s place. We were paddling down to say hello to Brennan. You know, to cheer him up.” Her voice lowered. “Actually, I was hoping he’d invite us out on his speedboat. This paddling stuff is for the birds.

“Hey, here comes Brennan now.”

“Ah, Erica, could you keep Brennan away from the body?” I didn’t want him to remember his old friend after being pulled from the water.

“The sheriff’s deputies won’t let anyone over there. Brennan’s right here. You want to talk to him?”

“Not right now. Where’s Ray?”

“He’s coming this way, too. He doesn’t look happy …

“Hey, what’s he doing? Oh my god, he’s pulling out his handcuffs …

“He’s putting them on Brennan. He’s reading him his rights …

“Suspected murder? Brennan?

“Jolene, who the hell is Wayne Engle?”

SIXTEEN

CORY BROKE ALL THE speed limits as we raced over to Brennan’s house. It didn’t matter because we found almost every Wachobe police officer and county sheriff’s deputy there at the scene, along with an ample crowd of interested spectators, those yahoos with the scanners Ray loved so much.

Yellow crime scene tape surrounded the entire acre of Brennan’s lakeside retreat, stopping at the shoreline. At the edge of the lake, a group of uniformed and suited men huddled around a black bag on a gurney. The medical examiner’s wagon was parked within the perimeter, doors open, as though ready to receive its precious cargo. My sister, her husband, and a uniformed officer waited in the shade of a willow tree whose branches swept the surface of the lake, creating ripples.

The Wachobe police chief, whose everyday primary duties involved traffic control and metered parking, allowed us under the tape with strict instructions to see Ray and only Ray.

Cory, of course, wanted to see Brennan and only Brennan. We couldn’t spot him anywhere.

Ray saw us and broke from the huddle.

Cory gestured frantically. “Where’s Brennan?”

“He’s under arrest. Max took him over to the sheriff’s department for questioning.”

“Why?” Cory’s anguished cry caught the attention of the huddle. They swung around to study us for a moment, then went back to their own conversation.

Ray folded his arms across his chest, frowning. “Engle had an urgent message slip from his office in his wallet, with Brennan’s address on it. When I called his office to find out his next of kin, the woman who answered said he didn’t have anyone except his godson. I asked who his godson was. Imagine my surprise when I learned it’s James Gleason’s son. Then I asked her if she knew Engle’s plans for last night. She said they got a call around six thirty, right before they locked up for the night, from a Brennan Rowe, asking to meet with him last night. She said Engle seemed surprised, but indicated he would drive up here. Now he’s dead.”

I had to admit Brennan would make my suspect list, too, but an arrest? “Ray, I don’t see how you can arrest Brennan for his murder. Someone else could have called, using Brennan’s name.”

“That’s true, but there’s blood on Brennan’s dock. There’s blood on Brennan’s oar. It all points to Brennan.”

“What oar?”

Cory sighed. “He keeps one on his boat, in case the engine quits in the middle of the lake or he needs to push off something.”

Ray nodded. “That’s the one. He admitted it was his.”

I swung around to look at Brennan’s ski boat, sitting in its hoist at the end of the dock with the sun glinting off it. Beyond, in the middle of the lake, I saw another glint of metal, too, unrecognizable at this distance. I didn’t let it distract me. “So