Free To Love and to Perish by Lisa Bork Page A

all the jokes about the skeletons in Brennan’s closet.” Cory sucked in a deep breath. “Anyway, I went through all his stuff.”
    â€œHuh!” I couldn’t help it—the gasp just burst from my lips. It sounded judgmental, even to me.
    Cory hung his head in shame.
    I didn’t know what to say. It was a huge breach of trust, certainly not the foundation upon which to build a solid, lifelong relationship. In fact, it sounded too much like Isabelle’s crazy notion to hire a private detective. I didn’t approve. But I had to admit I was curious as to what Cory found. Did that make me guilty by association?
    â€œYou didn’t break in, did you?” Ray would want to know about that; Brennan’s residence was in his territory.
    â€œOf course not! Brennan gave me a set of house keys months ago, and the alarm codes.”
    Well, that made it all better, didn’t it?
    I still wasn’t grasping the problem. If Ray knew about all this, he might lose respect for Cory, but nothing more.
    â€œYou found something you don’t want me to tell Ray about?”
    â€œSort of, but not exactly.”
    â€œThen what is it?”
    Cory laid his hands flat on my desk and leaned forward to whisper his confidence.
    â€œI don’t want you to tell him about the evidence I took out of there.”

Eight
    The pull of unanswered questions was like quick sand—deadly and impossible to escape.
    I leaned forward and breathed my reply, “What evidence?”
    Cory pointed at me. “Wait here!”
    He leapt from his chair and raced across the showroom floor, narrowly missing a collision with the spoiler on the Mazda when his dress shoes slid out from under him on the ceramic floor. The bells jingled as Cory slammed through the front door and disappeared toward the parking lot. Clearly he’d taken my question as the green light to share all. I hoped I wouldn’t find myself in an awkward position with Ray or any other lawman once he’d finished.
    A minute later he reappeared, out of breath, briefcase in hand, the contents of which he dumped on my desk after furtively closing and locking my office door.
    I assessed the check registers and high school yearbook, wondering if they technically constituted stolen property and what the legal ramifications might be of having possession of them, seeing as they were laid out on my desk.
    â€œCory—”
    He cut me off. “Look at these registers, Jo. Starting six months after the crash and lasting for eleven and half years, Brennan wrote a check on the first of every month to “Cash” for five thousand dollars. He stopped a year ago. I think someone was blackmailing him.”
    â€œThat’s a huge leap. Maybe it was to pay monthly bills.”
    Cory dismissed my notion with a wave of his hand. “His monthly bills were paid by check, too, and he made cash withdrawals throughout the months that look like spending money. His business records don’t reflect this money, either.”
    I grabbed my calculator and did the math. $690,000. Wow! “I don’t know, Cory. Who would be blackmailing him?”
    â€œMaybe the other passenger in the car. She would know if he was drunk.”
    â€œI’m sure the police must have spoken to her after the crash, before they decided not to charge Brennan.”
    â€œMaybe she lied for him.”
    Cory had veered into wanton speculation now. Or had he? Impossible to know without further investigation. “I’m not sure this all adds up to blackmail.”
    â€œI think it does. I asked Brennan once why everyone jokes about skeletons in his closet. He got all embarrassed, then he said, ‘I guess I didn’t pay off enough people.’ I thought he was kidding, but now that I think back, he seemed serious.”
    That would make me think blackmail, too. “What else did you find?”
    He dropped the check register and reached for the