make him wrong. I would have told him he was, if I’d been able to make my voice work.
“Nobody’s seen Brandon yet,” Dooley went on as if I wanted to hear more. “Folks are speculating that the body is his. But whether he’s the one who’s dead or the one who set the fire, insurance isn’t going be much good to him.”
I wanted to point a third possibility—that Brandon might be out there somewhere, whole, healthy, and innocent, but I couldn’t get those words out, either.
I just wasn’t sure which possibility frightened me more—Brandon dead, or Brandon guilty of murder.
Chapter 6
My eyes blurred, my breath burned my lungs, and my stomach hurt as if I’d been doing sit-ups all morning. “How soon will we know for sure?” I demanded when I could speak again.
“I wish I knew.” Kindness filled Dooley’s eyes, and he inched closer. He hovered a few feet away, looking as if he thought he needed to do something but not at all sure what that something might be. “The police have taken the body to the morgue, and I guess somebody will make an official identification. Word is that the fella they found is wearing Brandon’s ring, so I think we can probably predict what they’re going to tell us.”
I squeezed a few words out around the giant jawbreaker in my throat. “Where did you hear about the body?”
He shifted his weight from foot to foot and raked those kind eyes across my face. “I’m sorry, Abby. I know you don’t want to believe it—”
“This isn’t the time to pat me on the head and try to make me feel better,” I snapped. “I need answers. Who told you? Someone who knows what they’re talking about? Or is this just the latest gossip on the street?”
Dooley’s gaze dropped to the tips of his fingers, then shot back up to lock on mine. “Sloan Williamson told me.”
Sloan is the owner/editor of the Paradise Post , and while those credentials don’t necessarily guarantee the man’s honesty, Sloan simply isn’t the kind of man to run wild with rumors. He wouldn’t have said anything to Dooley unless he had a source to back it up.
So did that mean that Brandon was dead? My knees buckled and I sank onto a nearby stool to keep myself off the floor.
“I wouldn’t have said anything,” Dooley said after a few minutes, “but I know you and Brandon were friendly. I didn’t want you to read about it in tonight’s special edition.”
I nodded my thanks. “Do they know who set the fire?”
“Not yet, but they’ll figure it out. It’s just a matter of time.” His pudgy face creased with concern, and he put an awkward but gentle hand on my shoulder. “You going to be okay, kid?”
I nodded again, but I don’t think either of us believed it. One after another, questions raced through my head. Had Brandon set the fire, or was someone else responsible? If he did it, what possible reason could he have had? Had he been in financial trouble? Wouldn’t I have known about it if he had?
Tears threatened, but I fought them back. Between the divorce and Aunt Grace’s death, I’d spent far too much time crying in the past year, and I hate crying. I hate that my nose gets stuffy and my eyes hurt. I hate that it leaves me feeling emotionally drained when I’m through. Breaking down hadn’t solved a single problem in my past, and it sure hadn’t made my situation better. Only hard work and determination had done that.
I focused on the questions and locked away the emotion. Why had Brandon asked me to spend the evening with him if he was planning to set his store on fire? I was sure he wouldn’t have . . . unless he was thinking of using me as an alibi. Romano’s wasn’t far from Man About Town. He could have easily excused himself to use the men’s room, slipped out the back door, started the fire, and returned to dinner with me none the wiser.
But if that’s what he’d been planning, why had he changed his mind? Why stand me up and wait until later, when nobody was
“Nobody’s seen Brandon yet,” Dooley went on as if I wanted to hear more. “Folks are speculating that the body is his. But whether he’s the one who’s dead or the one who set the fire, insurance isn’t going be much good to him.”
I wanted to point a third possibility—that Brandon might be out there somewhere, whole, healthy, and innocent, but I couldn’t get those words out, either.
I just wasn’t sure which possibility frightened me more—Brandon dead, or Brandon guilty of murder.
Chapter 6
My eyes blurred, my breath burned my lungs, and my stomach hurt as if I’d been doing sit-ups all morning. “How soon will we know for sure?” I demanded when I could speak again.
“I wish I knew.” Kindness filled Dooley’s eyes, and he inched closer. He hovered a few feet away, looking as if he thought he needed to do something but not at all sure what that something might be. “The police have taken the body to the morgue, and I guess somebody will make an official identification. Word is that the fella they found is wearing Brandon’s ring, so I think we can probably predict what they’re going to tell us.”
I squeezed a few words out around the giant jawbreaker in my throat. “Where did you hear about the body?”
He shifted his weight from foot to foot and raked those kind eyes across my face. “I’m sorry, Abby. I know you don’t want to believe it—”
“This isn’t the time to pat me on the head and try to make me feel better,” I snapped. “I need answers. Who told you? Someone who knows what they’re talking about? Or is this just the latest gossip on the street?”
Dooley’s gaze dropped to the tips of his fingers, then shot back up to lock on mine. “Sloan Williamson told me.”
Sloan is the owner/editor of the Paradise Post , and while those credentials don’t necessarily guarantee the man’s honesty, Sloan simply isn’t the kind of man to run wild with rumors. He wouldn’t have said anything to Dooley unless he had a source to back it up.
So did that mean that Brandon was dead? My knees buckled and I sank onto a nearby stool to keep myself off the floor.
“I wouldn’t have said anything,” Dooley said after a few minutes, “but I know you and Brandon were friendly. I didn’t want you to read about it in tonight’s special edition.”
I nodded my thanks. “Do they know who set the fire?”
“Not yet, but they’ll figure it out. It’s just a matter of time.” His pudgy face creased with concern, and he put an awkward but gentle hand on my shoulder. “You going to be okay, kid?”
I nodded again, but I don’t think either of us believed it. One after another, questions raced through my head. Had Brandon set the fire, or was someone else responsible? If he did it, what possible reason could he have had? Had he been in financial trouble? Wouldn’t I have known about it if he had?
Tears threatened, but I fought them back. Between the divorce and Aunt Grace’s death, I’d spent far too much time crying in the past year, and I hate crying. I hate that my nose gets stuffy and my eyes hurt. I hate that it leaves me feeling emotionally drained when I’m through. Breaking down hadn’t solved a single problem in my past, and it sure hadn’t made my situation better. Only hard work and determination had done that.
I focused on the questions and locked away the emotion. Why had Brandon asked me to spend the evening with him if he was planning to set his store on fire? I was sure he wouldn’t have . . . unless he was thinking of using me as an alibi. Romano’s wasn’t far from Man About Town. He could have easily excused himself to use the men’s room, slipped out the back door, started the fire, and returned to dinner with me none the wiser.
But if that’s what he’d been planning, why had he changed his mind? Why stand me up and wait until later, when nobody was
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