His Brother's Bride

When Laurel fell quiet, the drill sergeant leaned forward, hands resting a body’s width apart on her desk. “What do you need to know?” she asked Laurel.

It wasn’t often that Scott found himself invisible, but on some level, the experience was not altogether a bad one.

“When was the last time you saw or heard from Cecilia?” Laurel asked.

“She was up here last week, finishing up business so that she could spend the rest of the summer in New Ashford.”

“When did she leave here?”

“Saturday morning. She was meeting someone in Cooper’s Corner before going out to her place.”

“Do you know who she was meeting?”

“No, though I suspected it might be a man.”

Laurel’s back was straight, her body still as she perched on the edge of the chair, facing Ms. Warren. Scott had the distinct feeling she was aware of him behind her, though.

“Does she date often?” Laurel asked the question Scott would have.

“No. Not at all. Which is why I think she was seeing a man. She was completely evasive—and a little nervous and shy—about the meeting. I’ve been here for twenty years and I’ve never seen Ms. Hamilton act that way.”

Wishing he felt comfortable enough to take out his notebook, Scott settled for inscribing that last telling remark in caps on his mental notepad.

“And you haven’t heard from her since the meeting?”

“No.”

“Is that unusual?”

“Very,” Ms. Warren said, her right thumb tapping on a file. She might be the epitome of control, but the woman was worried.

And that worried Scott.

“But then so is buying a summer home three hours from the company. I’ve just been telling myself this is all part of the recovery-from-grief process. Though Mr. Hamilton was so old, Ms. Hamilton is still a relatively young woman with a lot of years ahead of her.”

As Scott silently surveyed the room, compiling a character sketch of Cecilia Hamilton, the two women chatted about the indomitable businesswoman Cecilia had become over the years. And the loyal, compassionate and caring employer as well.

Scott added everything to his checklist. “Did she have any family other than Mr. Hamilton’s son, William?” he asked when Laurel reached the end of her questioning.

“The only family I’ve ever known of is a younger brother,” she said, meeting Scott’s gaze directly.

Coming forward, he took the seat next to Laurel, giving her a quick glance of gratitude and praise.

“Does he work here?” he asked the older woman.

Bettina Warren shook her head. “He’s in prison—has been for the past ten years.”

Scott’s internal alarm started to peal. “What’s he up for?”

“Hustling and drugs, mostly, but from what I understand, he’s been in trouble on and off since he was a teenager.”

“Cecilia talks to you about this?” Laurel’s gaze was intent on the other woman. Scott could almost see the human-interest story churning inside her mind.

“Never,” Ms. Warren surprised Scott by saying. “Ms. Hamilton was like a mother hen with that man, always sticking up for him, protecting him. But in an office like this you hear things, you know?”

Ms. Warren glanced toward the two doors across from her. They both had nameplates. One for Ms. Hamilton and one for her late husband. It didn’t take a detective to figure out that Cecilia’s assistant had overheard a conversation or two between husband and wife.

“Dennis Arnett was the only thing I ever heard the two of them fight about—maybe because her brother was the only reason she ever stood up to him. Mr. Hamilton was a pretty stern man. People didn’t cross him often.”