Make Quilts Not War - By Arlene Sachitano Page 0,36
Beth asked.
“I don’t know,” Morse admitted. “It could be a complete coincidence, it could be related in some way we can’t see yet, or it could be that whoever killed our victim did hit the right target and is trying to muddy the waters by harassing Jenny.”
“So, if this is unrelated to the murder, it would be important to figure it out as quickly as possible, right?” Harriet asked, staring at Jenny the whole time she was speaking.
Jenny’s shoulders drooped, and she let out a big sigh.
“It was probably my brother,” she said. “I talked to him this morning, and we didn’t part on civil terms. It would be very like him to have a tantrum and slit my tires.”
“What did he want?” Harriet asked.
Detective Morse glared at her.
“Sorry,” she said and took a step back.
“What did he want?” Morse repeated.
“What he always wants,” Jenny said. “Money.”
“But he wouldn’t take your money,” Harriet said. “That’s what I saw in the parking lot, isn’t it?”
Morse glared at her again but then turned to Jenny to hear the answer.
“He wants—or needs—a lot more money than I could give him. He’s always one deal away from the big score, and he never has quite enough money to pull it off. I haven’t seen him in years, and I didn’t want to know what he needed the money for.”
“Do you want to take out a restraining order against him?” Detective Morse asked.
“I didn’t even want to report the tires, if you’ll remember. I certainly don’t want to take out a restraining order. I want to go home, put my feet up and forget that the last two days ever happened.”
“Unfortunately, it isn’t that simple,” Detective Morse said. “Unless we bring your brother in and talk to him, we won’t know for sure it was him. I can’t promise, but depending on what else I find in the system, and what we can prove or not prove, he can probably get out of this without doing any jail time.”
“I would appreciate it if you could help him. I know he slashed my tires and all, but he is my brother.”
“I take it he doesn’t live here. Did he tell you where he’s staying?”
“I have no idea. I don’t think he’s living in Foggy Point,” Jenny said. “I hadn’t seen him until this morning, and he’s hard to miss.”
“How so?” Morse asked.
Jenny described Bobby’s tattoo.
“Okay, I think we’re through here,” Morse said. She made a few notes in a tattered notebook she’d pulled from her pocket. “You can go ahead and bring the tow truck back.”
“My offer still stands—I’ll wait for the tow truck if you want,” Tom said.
“I’ll keep you company,” Jorge offered. “If Harriet will take her aunt and Jenny home, that is.”
“Of course,” Harriet said.
Tom pulled his phone from his pocket and began dialing the tow truck as Harriet led Jenny and her aunt to her car. They drove to Jenny’s house in silence.
“Do you want to come in for a cup of tea?” Jenny asked when Harriet pulled into the driveway.
“I’d love a cup, if you’re not too tired,” Aunt Beth said. Harriet nodded in agreement, following her aunt’s lead.
“I’d appreciate the company.” Jenny ushered them inside. “Go ahead and sit in the den, and I’ll bring the tea,” she added and disappeared down a hallway to the back of the house.
Harriet took off her jacket then helped Beth out of hers, laying them across the arm of the chintz-covered sofa.
“Harriet, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the complete truth this morning,” Jenny began fifteen minutes later as she set a tray laden with a teapot and three cups along with a sugar bowl and small pitcher of milk on the coffee table in front of the sofa. “I was taken by surprise when my brother showed up, and I guess I’m embarrassed by him.
“It’s not just how he looks, although that’s gotten more bizarre each time I see him. It’s the way he’s chosen to live his life. When he worked at all, it was usually as a gofer for some minor league drug dealer. Now I think he has some disability scam going, so we’re all supporting him and paying for his ‘medical’ marijuana.”
“Oh, honey,” Aunt Beth soothed. “That’s none of your doing.”
“Still, like I said, it’s embarrassing. He showed up today, and he had yet another get-rich-quick scheme, and all he needed was ten thousand dollars. I guess he thinks we’re made of money and have wads of it