Page 93 of The Secret of Emerald Cottage

Chapter Fifty

“Poor, poor Muriel.” Slumped in her chair at the dining room table, Aunt Lilly just stared off into space, shaking her head while Molly, Sloan, and Brec watched her with concern.

Brec’s stomach twisted, thinking she looked as depleted as when she’d first arrived home from the hospital. “It’s late, Aunt Lilly,” he said quietly, “and you’re exhausted. Why don’t I walk you up to bed and read to you for a while to get your mind off all of this?”

“No, not yet, Breccan.” She managed a weak smile as she gave a nod toward Sloan, who sat across the table from Molly and Brec, fatigue etched deep into his features. “I want to hear everything about what happened from Sloan so I know how to comfort and pray for Muriel.”

Sloan glanced up with an apology in his eyes, his sheriff’s uniform looking as bedraggled as he. “I debated on coming here tonight, Miss Lilly, but Chase said you would want to know, both because Muriel is a friend and your obvious concern over Pastor Dave.” He twiddled his half-empty coffee cup, absently rotating it on the table. “We both figured it would alleviate some of your pain knowing Pastor Dave wasn’t involved in any of this.”

“It does,” she whispered. “Thank you for your sensitivity, Detective. Muriel’s a dear friend, so I feel her pain and share her worry”—she paused, a glimmer of hope making its way through the sadness in her eyes—“Muriel said it was an accident, so will they be letting Marla go?”

Sloan cuffed the back of his neck. “Unfortunately no. Right now they’re holding her on involuntary manslaughter, which is an unintentional homicide from criminally negligent or reckless conduct.” His eyes softened as if he were trying to lighten the blow of his words. “But voluntary manslaughter may not be out of the question according to the D.A., ma’am, who suspects a crime of passion.”

“A crime of passion?” Molly whispered, her face as white as his aunt’s.

Sloan nodded. “According to Marla’s testimony, she received a letter from Pete—”

“Pete?” Both Aunt Lilly and Molly bolted straight up in their chairs, something that was becoming a habit lately whenever Sloan was in the room. Their voices were a merge of confusion. “When?”

“A couple of weeks or so after Pete’s funeral, she said, telling her he’d arranged for this letter to be mailed to her if anything happened to him.”

“What? But, why?” Molly instantly reverted to detective mode.

Sloan sagged back into his chair. “Because Pete wanted Marla to know that it was Alan and not Pete and Roy who was responsible for Greg’s death.

“What?” Both Aunt Lilly and Molly gasped in unison. “But who on earth mailed it?” Molly asked, bracing a protective arm over Miss Lilly’s shoulder.

“We don’t know, but the detective on the case told me they checked for prints, and there weren’t any except Pete’s. Plus it was typed.” Eyes closed, Sloan kneaded the bridge of his nose. “Which means we have two opposing letters from Pete—a handwritten confession that basically exonerates Alan, confirmed by analysts to be Pete’s handwriting, and then a typed one accusing Alan of the murder. Both with Pete’s fingerprints.”

“Not very clear cut,” Brec muttered.

Sloan glanced up, weariness weighting his gaze. “No, it isn’t. But as far as weightier evidence, I’m leaning toward Pete’s letter to Marla, which leads me to believe Alan may have had something to do with Pete’s death now as well as Roy’s.”

“Oh my goodness!” Aunt Lilly literally slumped back into her chair.

“I plan to confiscate Alan’s bank records,” Sloan said, “because I suspect I’ll find money transfers to either Pete or Roy, who may have been blackmailing Alan all these years. When Alan made the short list for Supreme Court Justice, I wouldn’t be surprised if the blackmailer jacked up his fee for keeping quiet.”

“Makes sense,” Brec said, all the pieces suddenly falling into place.

“It does.” Upending the last dregs of his coffee, Sloan nodded. “According to Pete’s letter to Marla, Alan punched Greg so hard, Greg fell back and hit his head on a rock, killing him instantly.”

“Oh, dear God in heaven …” Aunt Lilly’s whisper bore the weight of her grief.

“So,” Sloan continued, “between the shock of Alan possibly being responsible for killing the man she loved and the fact that Alan had been cheating on her and emotionally abusing her for years, a crime of passion wouldn’t be too hard to prove. Especially since Alan had repeatedly threatened to cut Marla off without a dime if she didn’t keep her mouth shut and play the dutiful wife.”

“What a scumbag.” Brec’s jaw compressed, remembering how he hadn’t liked the guy from the get-go.

“Yeah.” Sloan pushed his cup away. “Marla was so full of fire and fury, she waited up for him in his office”—his mouth compressed—“with a gun. Claims she only wanted to confront him with the letter and demand he sign an agreement to a no-contest divorce with a healthy settlement.” He massaged his temple, his voice laden with fatigue. “Said Alan just laughed at her and tried to take the gun away. Marla swears it went off in the tussle.”

“Does the detective believe her?” Brec asked, his concern for his aunt prompting him to probe.

Sloan peered up beneath heavy lids. “I think he wants to, but Alan was high profile, and in D.C. that’s deadly. Detective Larson is worried the spotlight will force his hand into a harsher sentence since Alan was an icon.”

“Oh, no!” Aunt Lilly pressed a hand to her chest, shaking her head. “I’m just sick about this, but thank God Muriel plans to hire the best lawyer money can buy. Between her portfolio and Marla’s, that’s no small amount.”

“She’ll need character witnesses as well,” Molly said, “and I know Pastor Dave and Marla are close, so I’m sure he’ll want to be there for her.”

“No doubt.” Sloan pushed up from the table. “Well, I need to head home before I fall asleep right here.” He sent Molly that special look that always got on Brec’s nerves. “Walk me to the door?”

“Sure.” Molly rose and pushed in her chair, avoiding Brec’s laser gaze, which only ticked him off all the more.

“Molly!” Brec called, the stern use of her first name indicating he had no intention of going down without a fight, especially when it came to the lovesick Detective Kennedy. Both she and Sloan turned at the same time, and Brec stared Molly down with a pointed look, ignoring the annoyance on the detective’s face as his voice softened. “I’m asking you, lass, to remember our conversation in the kitchen, if you will.”

She blinked and gave a brief nod.

He watched as she turned and marched to the front door, snatching her jacket off the hook before wrestling it on while Sloan helped. His heart cramped when Sloan ushered her outside with a hand to the small of her back, reminding Brec once again just how hard he’d fallen for Molly Stewart. He exhaled a slow and shaky sigh, eyelids sagging closed as he reached for Aunt Lilly’s frail hand. At her gentle squeeze, he felt the weight of his worry shift from his shoulders as he proceeded to do something he hadn’t done ever in over thirty years of life.

He led them in prayer.