Stuck on Murder by Lucy Lawrence Page A

time Nate had ever mentioned his past and she wanted to reciprocate.
    “I didn’t like the person I saw in my mirror either,” she said. “But for me, I was just tired of being afraid. In Boston, I found I was always looking over my shoulder. It was exhausting.”
    “Why were you afraid?” he asked. His voice was as soft as hers had been, as if he was afraid of scaring her off as well.
    “The crime,” she said, opting to remain unspecific. “There was too much crime.”
    “So naturally, you relocated to a place that just suffered its first murder in how long?” he asked with a sideways glance.
    “Fifty years, or so I hear. Apparently Louise Holbrook backed over her husband with his powder blue Buick when she caught him cheating. I sure can pick ’em,” she agreed and returned his look.
    She took a long sip from her glass. The lemon was tart on her tongue against the tea’s honey sweetness.
    She was enjoying these moments with Nate probably more than she should. It would not do for the sanctity of their landlord-tenant relationship for her to develop a misguided crush on him. But even as she thought it, she feared it might be too late.

Chapter 12

    Fine cutting is the key to decoupage, making a good pair of scissors the most important tool.
    Tenley marched into Vintage Papers the next morning with a coffee from Stan’s Diner in each of her hands and the Morse Point Courier rolled up under her arm.
    “Just wait until you see this,” she said. “It’s outrageous.”
    Brenna put down the Fiskar scissors she was using to cut out a print of an antique hot air balloon. She was planning to decoupage it onto an old metal letter box, but it could wait if Tenley had news.
    Tenley put down the coffees, unrolled the paper with a flourish, and plopped it in front of Brenna. The headline was a scandal by itself but the photo below it made it damning.
    MURDER SUSPECT NATE WILLIAMS HAS HISTORY OF VIOLENCE! The bold typeface screamed across the top of the paper. Below it there was a picture of Nate, looking decidedly angry and several years younger.
    He appeared to be walking out of a New York City police precinct with a stunning blond beside him. Unable to stop herself, Brenna scanned the article. After a few paragraphs, she felt dirty and it wasn’t just the black newsprint residue on her fingers. And yet, she read every word.
    Several sources, from self-proclaimed friends of Nate’s to maids working at hotels where he’d once stayed, reported to have seen his notorious artistic temper. The photo of him leaving the precinct was purported to have been taken after he and the blond were arrested for trashing their hotel room after a wild party. Lovely.
    The reporter for the Courier , Ed Johnson himself, speculated that Nate Williams suffered from anger issues. The article went on to speculate that perhaps when Mayor Ripley had crossed him, Nate Williams had finally given in to his violent ways. Ed Johnson ended the piece by declaring that he, too, had suffered at Nate’s hands while trying to interview sources for this story. Brenna shoved the paper away, disgusted.
    It was her fault. If Nate hadn’t tossed Ed off her front steps, Ed wouldn’t be coming after him like this. Her stomach twisted at the thought.
    The bells jangled on the door and in walked Cynthia Ripley. She looked more put together today than she had in front of Nate’s cabin, but just barely. She wore jeans and a pink hooded sweatshirt. Her hair, which was usually shellacked to perfection, was pulled back by a wide black headband, as if she couldn’t be bothered to style it.
    Although she did seem calmer, Brenna flipped the newspaper over just in case the sight of Nate’s photo set her off.
    She was carrying a large box, and Tenley hurried over to take it from her.
    “Cynthia, how are you?” she asked as she placed the box on the worktable.
    “Managing,” Cynthia said. Her voice was subdued and Brenna found herself feeling sorry for her. Like