No Perfect Hero(90)

“I know.” I reach over to cover her hands. “I’m sorry. I know Mr. Bress was your friend.”

“He was, but I...” She shakes her head, eyes wide, turning her hand to clutch at mine. “I don’t understand why they think Warren was involved.”

What I don’t understand is who else would kill Bress, when I know it wasn’t Warren.

If Bress was the one who killed Jenna, it doesn’t make sense.

It doesn’t make sense that someone else would take him out. Not when he was the one making threats. He even told me he’d make sure I was taken care of, in that weird, ominous tone.

Unless? Unless he meant...

Someone else killed Jenna.

And he was offering to protect me before I got too deep in dirty secrets.

No. I’ve got to be imagining things, right?

I don’t know the full story. I don’t know anything anymore, but I do know it doesn’t make sense for someone to eliminate Bress and conveniently leave Warren as the prime suspect.

But while I’m trying to make these pieces fit, Ms. Wilma watches me, waiting for an answer. I drag myself back to the present and smile faintly. “I guess they got into it at Brody’s the other night, but I know Warren didn’t do it. I was with him. He couldn’t have.”

Blood rushes to my cheeks. It’s the first time I’ve even hinted out loud at what I know Ms. Wilma has already guessed.

Her eyes widen again before she smiles bravely as she looks away, blinking back tears and delicately rubbing at her nose.

“Well. With you in his corner, I know he’ll be fine.”

I swallow real heavy. I hope.

“How could someone do something so horrid to Dennis? Murder? In Heart’s Edge, of all places.”

“Warren will find out, Wilma,” I promise. “But in the meantime, he made me promise to send Tara home to Seattle and stay out of town for a few days. Just until things are safe.”

“You’re driving to the Spokane airport? Will your car make it?”

“I think so. It’s only a couple hours there and a couple back. And I’ve got my phone. I’ll call if anything goes wrong.” I squeeze her hand again, offering a smile. “I’ll be back before you know it. It takes more than this to scare me out of town.”

Her laugh is weak but genuine. And it warms something deep inside me, when she leans over and kisses my cheek. “You’re a good girl, darling. I do hope you’ll consider staying longer.”

I can’t really think about the implications of that right now, so I just squeeze her hand again and stand.

“Tara,” I call, breaking my niece from her reverie. She blinks, lifting her head, fingers tightening on the pencil, and I smile. “C’mon. We need to talk.”

Tara tenses, eyeing me warily. “Am I in trouble?”

“Nah.” It’s hard to smile, but for her I always find it in me. “I’ll even take you for ice cream after. But give Ms. Wilma a hug first.”

Tara gives me another long, suspicious look, then stands, smoothing her dress just like Ms. Wilma does. Then she launches herself at the woman like a little rocket and hugs her tight.

Those glimmering tears in Ms. Wilma’s eyes bead heavier, threatening to spill over, as she hugs my niece fiercely.

“You’re such a sweet girl,” Ms. Wilma whispers. “Such a darling. Be nice to your aunt, and don’t ever stop drawing your pretty pictures.”

I don’t think Tara realizes that’s Ms. Wilma’s way of saying goodbye. My heart feels like lead.

But finally they separate, and Tara tucks her art supplies under one arm before taking my hand, letting me lead her out into the light and toward the cabin. Her eyes glimmer with worry as she looks up at me.

“Auntie Hay?” she asks. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, sweetie. It's just...” I squeeze her hand. “It’s time for you to go home soon. Your Mom and Dad are coming back from Hawaii tomorrow, aren’t they?”

Her face falls. “Oh, yeah. Guess so.” She pouts. “But I don’t want to go.”

I stop on the grassy path, crouching down in front of her and looking up into her sullen, sad little face. “Hey. Talk to me, munchkin. Why don’t you want to go home? Are things bad with your parental units?”

She shakes her head.

“No, no.” She scuffs one foot. “I’m really having fun here. And Ms. Wilma doesn’t make me go to bed by eight.”

“I should probably have talked to Ms. Wilma about that,” I say, ruffling her hair. “But that’s really all it is?”

Tara blinks, looking confused. “I guess. I mean I miss my bed and my pool, but I’m gonna miss you more, Auntie Hay.”

Dammit, this kid really knows how to rip up my heartstrings.

And when she flings herself at me, I grunt but catch her and hug her wholeheartedly, then lift her up and hold her against me as I turn to carry her into the cabin.

We cling to each other a minute longer before we separate so I can help her pack. But it’s not long before I’m watching her zip around the house, run out to the car, run back into the cabin, then out again, digging and scowling with increasing frustration before she just stops in the middle of the living room and proclaims, “Oh, shoot!” with a little stomp of her foot.