Stuck on Murder by Lucy Lawrence Page B

her or not, Brenna couldn’t imagine how horrifying it must have been to have her husband’s dead body found in a trunk in the lake. Poor Cynthia.
    “I’m planning the memorial for Jim,” she said. Her voice wobbled a bit with emotion, but she pressed on, “And I was wondering if you, Brenna, would be willing to create a memory collage for me to put out at the service.”
    “Uh . . . sure,” Brenna said. Caught off guard, she didn’t see how she could refuse.
    “Thank you,” Cynthia said. Her chin quivered and she opened the box she’d brought with her. “I thought you could decoupage these photos and news clippings onto a plaque to put on display at the service. What do you think?”
    Brenna was speechless, but Tenley put her arm around Cynthia and said, “I think it’s a lovely idea.”
    A single tear rolled down Cynthia’s cheek, and Brenna felt her own throat get tight. She realized she didn’t know what sort of relationship the Ripleys had, but there was no mistaking Cynthia’s suffering.
    “It’s all in here,” Cynthia said. She reached into the box and pulled out a manila folder full of clippings. “You don’t have to use them all. I’ll defer to your artistic vision, but the highlights like our wedding photo and the day he was sworn in as mayor would be critical.”
    Brenna nodded. She glanced into the box to see if there was more, but the only thing left was the birdhouse Cynthia had decorated two weeks ago.
    “Oh, and I was wondering if you could fix my birdhouse?” Cynthia asked. Her voice cracked and now the tears were running down her face in a stream. “I was holding it when Chief Barker told me about J—Jim and I dropped it.”
    Brenna pulled the house out of the box and noticed the corner did appear to be mashed. It was easily fixable.
    “There is an oak tree beside Jim’s plot, and I thought I could hang the birdhouse in it to keep him company,” Cynthia said. Her voice was barely audible through her sobs, and she turned and wept into Tenley’s shoulder.
    “Absolutely,” Brenna said. She wished she could do more to help. “A little wood putty and paint and it’ll be as good as new.”
    “There, you see?” Tenley said as she patted Cynthia back. “Brenna will take care of everything.”
    Cynthia straightened up and took the tissue Tenley offered. She sniffed a couple of times and then drew in a shaky breath.
    “Thank you both so much,” she said. “I’d better go. I have to meet with the florist. I’m having them re-create my wedding bouquet for the wreath for Jim’s coffin.”
    “Are you sure you’re all right?” Brenna asked.
    “Could I get you some coffee or tea?” Tenley added.
    “No, no, I’m fine,” Cynthia said. She walked toward the door, dabbing at her eyes as she went. “Now that his murderer is in custody, I can move on with the grieving process.”
    “What do you mean?” Brenna asked. She felt all of the hair on her arms rise up in alarm.
    Cynthia opened the door and the bells jangled again. Standing in the doorway, she turned to face them. The tears on her cheeks seemed to evaporate as she lifted her chin in vindication. “Didn’t you hear? Chief Barker arrested Nate Williams this morning for murdering my husband.”
    The door shut behind her, and Brenna and Tenley exchanged wide-eyed looks of shock.
    “It’s not true,” Brenna said. “Nate didn’t kill Jim Ripley. I know he didn’t.”
    Tenley gave her a worried look then her eyes widened again and her mouth formed a small oh .
    “You like him,” she said.
    Brenna pretended to misunderstand and said, “Of course I like him, he’s a very nice man.”
    “Oh, no, don’t even try it.” Tenley shook her head. “You get a goopy look on your face whenever someone says his name. You like Nate Williams.”
    “Well, you should know that goopy look,” Brenna retorted. “You get the same one every time Matt Collins walks into a room.”
    “Ah,” Tenley gasped and clapped her hands to