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Brooke moved to stand next to her brother, eyeing Rayne with open curiosity. “I assumed you contacted me because you wanted to use the farm in one of your paintings.”
Ah. That was why she’d appeared so eager when she’d opened the door. Rayne hadn’t been close friends with her and it had seemed odd that she would be excited by her visit. Obviously she’d been hoping for some free publicity for the horse farm in the form of an art show.
“We’re here to ask you about Nat,” Niko clarified.
“Nat?” Brooke slowly stiffened, her eyes narrowed. “I don’t understand.”
“A couple of days ago I found some of Nat’s belongings in my old school stuff,” Rayne said, taking charge of the encounter.
Niko was no doubt far more skilled in negotiations, and his people skills were a thousand times better than her own.Everyone’speople skills were better. But his emotions were too raw to be objective. He was convinced that Nat hadn’t committed suicide. And now he was searching for proof to back up his theory.
Rayne pulled out a picture from the pocket of her heavy parka and handed it to Brooke. It was the one of Nat standing between the Orwell siblings.
Brooke studied the image, her features softening, as if recalling a happy memory.
“I remember this.” She glanced toward her brother. “You came with Mom and Dad for Parents Weekend.”
He nodded, moving closer to Brooke as he gazed down at the photo. “There was a formal dance. I was Nat’s date and she insisted I wear a tux for the event.”
“Who took the picture?” Rayne asked.
Brooke furrowed her brow, as if struggling to recall the precise details of the night. “I think Nat gave her camera to my mom. It took her forever to figure out which button to push.”
Rayne swallowed a sigh. There was nothing in the picture to indicate why Nat would have saved it in her private box. She was hoping it was either the occasion or maybe the person who’d taken the photo that had been special.
“I still don’t understand why you drove out here,” Brooke said, handing back the photo.
Rayne tucked it back in her pocket and pulled out the wrinkled note. “This was with the picture.”
Brooke took the paper and scanned the stark threat. Her eyes widened, and she shot a startled glance toward her brother. Trent’s own expression was carefully devoid of emotion. As if he didn’t want Rayne or Niko to witness his reaction to the note.
Finally, Brooke cleared her throat and returned her attention to Rayne. “What is this?”
“Obviously a threat,” Rayne said.
“From whom?”
Rayne reached out to take back the note, folding it before she slid it into her pocket. “We’re hoping you could tell us.”
“Why me?”
Rayne blinked at the sudden aggression in Brooke’s tone. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Shock. Or disbelief. Maybe even indifference. But her defensiveness was like waving a red flag in front of them.
Suddenly she suspected that Brooke had something to hide.
“You were her best friend,” Rayne pointed out, careful not to sound accusing.
“Exactly. It . . .” Brooke’s words trailed off, as if they’d dried on her parted lips. She blinked, battling back tears. “It broke my heart when she killed herself. Why would I ever threaten her?”
Rayne ignored the woman’s distress. This was painful for all of them. “Do you know anyone who would have?”
“No,” Brooke snapped. “Everyone loved Nat.”
“Nat was my sister, but I wasn’t blind to her faults,” Niko intruded into the conversation. “She was stubborn, selfish, and opinionated as hell.”
Brooke clenched her teeth, clearly annoyed by Niko’s description of his sister. “Yes. Just like every other teenage girl at St. Cecilia’s.”
Trent wrapped a protective arm around his sister. “Why are you interested in an old note?”
