Page 59

REN

Siren Song, Maine

T he next day, after some follow-up investigating and strategic phone calls, Ren and Stella walked into the police station, where the sheriff and Ellie waited with Ginny and Gary Bonapart. The sheriff pushed himself away from the reception desk and followed them into the main room.

Ren wasted no time. “As you all know, since Stella and I moved into the Cliffside House, we’ve discovered several things that have led us to conclude Franklin Wabash was murdered. We also believe the deck on the house was sabotaged in an attempt to silence us for good.”

Stella stepped to Ren’s side. “Franklin was stabbed in his kitchen the night of Ginny’s Fourth of July party.

During all the commotion, someone snuck into Franklin’s kitchen, pulled a knife from the wood block on the counter, and stabbed him.

The killer couldn’t wait around for Franklin to die, fearing they would be missed.

Wounded and dying, he staggered with a knife in his gut to the one spot where he wanted his life to end—on Siren Cliff, where he had scattered his wife’s ashes years before. ”

Gary Bonapart rested an ankle on his knee. “That sounds more like a movie plot than an actual crime.”

Ellie Sellers held up a hand. “Let them speak, Gary. Let’s hear what they have to say.”

Stella said, “The party guests spot Franklin walking toward the bluff. What must have been a shock for the killer turned out to be an unintentionally perfect crime.”

Ren took over. “No one could see the knife. Dozens of witnesses saw what they believed to be Franklin’s suicide.”

The sheriff tugged up his thick belt. “All right, son, let’s say your theory is right. You’ve got means and opportunity, but what the hell is the motive?”

“The house.”

Gary stood to leave. “We already told you, it’s just a house. Granted, it’s a nice house, but who the hell kills someone over something like that?”

Stella replied with a question, “Ginny, you’re a birder, like Franklin. When’s the last time you saw a cliff swallow?”

Ginny shifted in her chair. “Years. Franklin complained before he died that they weren’t coming around much.”

Stella said, “We checked with Fish and Wildlife. A developer in Portland appealed to remove the cliff’s protected status due to an absence of endangered species in the area.”

Ren continued, “And Ginny, you mentioned that Franklin repeatedly claimed he was cutting Iggy out of his will. So, who stood to gain?”

Ginny protested, “Well, not me. I must have told Franklin a hundred times I had no interest in that money pit.”

“I think you’re right, Ginny.” Ren shifted his focus. “It was you.” Ren turned to where Ellie Sellers had moved beside the sheriff.

“Me? That’s ridiculous,” Ellie snapped.

“Is it? Franklin goes around complaining about his son’s life choices and insisting he won’t give Iggy a penny. It occurs to you, as Franklin’s cousin, that if the old man cuts his son out of the will, and Ginny has made her lack of interest clear, you’re the logical choice to inherit the house.”

Stella picked up the ball. “And, if there were no cliff swallows nesting in the area, the property would be worth ten times what it is now because you could sell it to a developer.”

Ren stepped beside Stella. “You’ve been giving Ginny those scented talismans to hang from the trees for years. Turns out the peppermint oil and eucalyptus in them repel cliff swallows.”

Stella stepped closer to Ellie. “So, thinking you’re the logical choice to inherit Franklin’s house, you set about getting rid of the birds that are preventing the development of the property.”

Ellie got in Stella’s face. “You can’t prove any of this.”

Ren held up a hand. “There’s more to the story, and you know it, Ellie.”

Ellie tried and failed to maintain her bravado. “Oh? And what’s that?”

Ren said, “Something bothered me about our conversation about Iggy’s death when we first arrived in town. You asked me how he died, and I told you it was a motorcycle accident. What was it you said? ‘Helmet laws exist for a reason.’ I never mentioned Iggy wasn’t wearing a helmet.”

Stella added. “Iggy inherited the house when Franklin died, and you got pissed, and then you got devious. From all accounts, Iggy was an irresponsible, reckless pothead. And he was young. You figured, no way does he have a will. You’re his next of kin.”

Ren joined Stella. “The day before Iggy died, you took a vacation to visit relatives in Freeport. But you didn’t go to Freeport.

According to our cybersecurity expert, you flew to Los Angeles and rented a blue Nissan SUV.

You ran Iggy down on his motorcycle and killed him.

Must have been quite a shock to discover he had a partner and a child and a very detailed will. ”

Ellie took a step back. “I’m not saying anything. This is bullshit.”

“After I took possession of the house, your only options were buying it as cheaply as possible and covering your tracks. I assume it was you who played those tricks to convince Lowell the house was haunted, knowing he’d blab about it to anyone who would listen.”

Ellie rolled her eyes but didn’t respond.

“Then there is your more serious offense. You work with leather,” Ren continued.

“We saw you selling your items at the Cranberry Festival. Sulfuric acid is used in the tanning process. You must have spotted Stella and me on the bluff the day we found the knife, so you sabotaged the deck. You tied that Husky to the tree yourself, and when Stella and I ran out to investigate, you went to work pouring acid on the deck support beams.”

Stella said, “You figured when the deck inevitably collapsed, you’d either kill us or scare us away.”

Ellie eyed her gun sitting on her desk across the room, then turned and sprinted for the door.

Outside, blocking her path, two state police officers stood with their weapons drawn.

She struggled as the men cuffed her. “All of you can go to hell,” she shouted.

“Especially you two fucking Murder-She-Wrote lovebirds. I hope that house burns to the ground!”

After the group had dispersed and the gossip bullet train had left the station, Ren took Stella’s hand and walked her to the car. People were watching them, and Ren didn’t give a damn.

“It’s not a bad idea, you know?”

“What isn’t?” he asked.

“ Murder-She-Wrote Lovebirds . We could live up here and solve crimes.”

Ren laughed. “Well, considering aside from Franklin’s murder, the last crime to happen here was someone spray painting profanity about the vice principal of the high school on the side of the gym, I think we’d be bored.”

Stella nuzzled him. “There’s other stuff to do.”

Ren let go of her hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Come to think of it, I am due for another therapy session.”

Stella leaned her head against his thick arm. “Are you okay?”

Ren sighed. “Yeah. It’s been so long since we were close. And I’d already said goodbye to them both. Knowing Iggy and Franklin were murdered stings, but catching the person responsible helps.”

“Hey,” she said.

“What?”

“We found something we have in common. We both like bringing down the bad guy.”

“Stella,” Ren growled. “I can think of plenty we have in common.”

She ran her hand down his back to his firm ass. “Like what?”

“You’re about to find out.”