Last Whisper

by Carlene Thompson

  “You might be right about my mother, but not my father.”

  “I’ll tell you a secret. One of those times when I’d slipped away from my adoring foster parents over to your house, your father read aloud a paper you’d written in college and sent home. He glanced at your mother, then at me with a look of wonder on his face, and said, ‘Can you only imagine having the talent to express yourself that way? It’s God-given; that’s all I can say. God-given.’ ”

  Vincent stared at her in surprise for a moment, then abruptly got up. “I have to go to the restroom.”

  Brooke sat down on a bench, waiting. The mall seemed unusually crowded, almost as filled with people as it was at Christmas. As she casually gazed around her, she became aware of one person standing, looking at her. A few people passed between them and then she saw Judith Lambert from work. The woman wore a skirt just short enough to show her bony knees, and a short-sleeved jacket over a chemise that should have been covered, not that Judith’s tiny breasts were exactly overflowing the cups. Brooke didn’t know the exact time, but it was certainly after two o’clock, not Judith’s lunch hour. Maybe Aaron had given her some extra time off, Brooke thought, then decided the matter was none of her business. She gave Judith a brief smile as the woman continued to stand stock-still, staring at her.

  Brooke looked into the bag with the chocolates, almost overcome by a craving for just one, when someone said, “Grieving for your lost friend, Brooke?” Brooke glanced up to see Judith standing over her, a look of outrage on her bony face. “According to Aaron, you were so upset, he gave you a few days off. And here you are—shopping your little heart out.”

  “Judith, I just happened to run into someone—”

  “Yes, I know you’re here with a man, what else?” Judith’s cheekbones seemed even sharper under the harsh lights of the mall. “I’ll be sure to tell Aaron I saw you and your escort having a lovely afternoon. I’m certain he’ll be delighted you’re making such a fast recovery.”

  “Judith, if you’d just let me explain . . .”

  “Explain what?” Brooke went blank as Judith glared, her eyes like shards of aqua glass. “You’re so pretty and you seem so sweet. You always get what you want while robbing the rest of us of what we should have.” Judith shook her head slowly, as if just coming to an important realization. “Nature isn’t fair,” she said slowly. “That’s why sometimes it’s up to man to correct the mistakes.”

  Judith whirled and strode away so fast Brooke didn’t have time to say anything else, not that she would have known what to say. The idea that she was having a grand old time right after the death of Mia was ludicrous, but Brooke had to admit she’d enjoyed her two hours at the mall, and that awareness immediately brought on feelings of guilt. But what on earth had Judith meant about man needing to correct nature’s mistakes? Was she merely trying to say something dramatic, or was she saying what she truly felt? Or worse, meant?

  When Vincent emerged from the restroom, he looked a tad redder around the eyes and nose, but Brooke didn’t call attention to his altered appearance. She knew her words about his father had affected Vincent deeply and there was no need for more conversation on the topic. Still, she was mainly thinking about Judith, feeling both angry and shamefaced at the same time.

  Vincent gave her a bright smile that dimmed when he looked at her more closely. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing much.”

  “You saw Zach?” he asked in alarm.

  “No. I’ll tell you later. Right now I’d just like to leave the mall.” Without thinking, she took his arm almost as protection. “How would you like to meet my grandmother?” she asked.

  “You want me to go to the hospital with you?”

  “Yes, unless you hate hospitals.”

  “I don’t. I just didn’t think you liked me well enough to invite me to meet the person you love most in the world.”

  “Oh, don’t get too carried away with yourself,” Brooke said airily, trying to recover her good mood. “I just like riding in your convertible.”

  “How could your grandmother think I look like your uncle Heinrich when he had light brown hair and blue eyes?” Vincent asked as they spun back to White Willows to pick up Brooke’s car three hours later.

  “Because she had you mixed up with her uncle Thomas, who had black hair and green eyes.”

  “Well, then, don’t you think—”

  “That she got mixed up last night and saw an orderly instead of Zach bending over her bed?” she finished for him. “No, I don’t. She hasn’t seen Heinrich and Thomas for forty years. She also described the mole on Zach’s face; then she pointed on my face to the exact place where Zach’s mole was located. And she said he’d said he’d come for me. She didn’t even know Zach was out of prison, Vincent.”

  “At least we think she didn’t. I know the staff at White Willows tried to keep her shielded from the news, but couldn’t some of her friends have seen the news and told her?”

  “I thought you believed me, Vincent,” Brooke said quietly. “I thought you were the one person who believed that Grossmutter really had seen Zach.”

  He was quiet for a moment, negotiating a tight turn on the way up the hill to White Willows. Then he said, “Brooke, I do believe you. It’s just that I know that if you’re determined to make the police believe that Zach got into that nursing home, they’ll be asking you tougher questions than I have been. I’m only trying to get you prepared.”

  “Okay. As long as you believe me.”

  “Why do you care if I believe you?”

  She looked slightly flustered for a moment, then said, “I’d just like to know that someone believes me.”

  No, I care if he believes me, Brooke thought with a burst of annoyance. What Vincent Lockhart thought shouldn’t matter to her at all. But, much as she hated to admit it, she did care.

  When they pulled up beside Brooke’s car, she glanced at her watch. “Good heavens, it’s five thirty!”

  “Think we’re too late to catch dinner in the White Willows cafeteria?”

  “Let’s hope so,” Brooke said dryly. “Vincent, thank you for lunch—”

  “Save the speech for two minutes. I’m going to open your car door and help you in like my mother taught me to do.”

  “Vincent, I’m not an old lady.”

  “I’m doing this for my mother.”

  “Oh well, as long as it’s not for me.” Brooke sighed, amused in spite of herself, then allowed Vincent to get out, go to her car, open the door, and hand her in with a flourish. “May I adjust your seat belt?”

  “I think I can manage that, and you don’t fasten women’s seat belts unless you want to get the reputation of being a letch.”

  “I am a letch.”

  “Your mother wouldn’t like that.”

  “Then I’ll leave your seat belt alone.” He stepped back and smiled. “I had a nice afternoon, Brooke,” he said through her open window.

  “Me, too.”

  “Thanks for taking me to meet your grandmother. She seems like quite a lady.”

  “She liked you, too. She didn’t say much, but I could tell by the look in her eyes.” Brooke fumbled with her keys, suddenly self-conscious. “Tell your father hello for me. And thanks again for the day. It was just what I needed.”

  “Good. Now I’ve heard what I’ve done right for the day. Next I’ll go home and hear from Dad everything I’ve done wrong.”

  Brooke laughed. “You two love arguing and you know it. Good night. Sleep tight.”

  Sleep tight? she thought as she drove away from White Willows. That was the kind of thing you said to a child, not to mention sounding a bit intimate. Actually, sounding a bit strange, when you thought about it. What was the opposite of sleeping tight? Sleeping loose? What would that entail? “Brooke, you need to go home and have a quiet evening,” she said aloud. “After all that’s happened lately, you need to wind down like an old clock.”

  2

  Robert decided t
o go for a long drive through the summer evening with its tranquil, fading colors. The only problem was that the evening was neither tranquil nor colorful. By seven o’clock the sky had turned a flat shale gray and wind tossed around tree limbs, gently at first, then with more force. A storm was coming. Robert had hated storms ever since he was six and lightning had hit their house, setting it on fire. No one had been injured. The incident had locked itself in Robert’s memory, however, and during storms he had crawled under his bed until he was twelve and became ashamed of seeking this haven, although sometimes he still longed for its safety.

  Tonight Robert didn’t care that Charleston lay in the path of a storm. Bolstered by almost unbearable nervous tension and the remnants of the three glasses of wine he’d consumed at lunch and three more at home, he felt strong and reckless. A little lightning and thunder weren’t going to scare him, by God.

  Robert thought about going to Aaron’s but quickly rejected the idea. They’d had a long lunch and Aaron had been supportive and charming. But Robert had sensed that Aaron was playing him, speaking with a lack of sincerity, trying to “jolly” him into a better mood. Robert hadn’t let Aaron know he’d sensed the counterfeit manner, but he knew something dark lay under Aaron’s wide smile and something hostile hid behind his ebony eyes.

  Actually, he’d seemed wary of Robert. Aaron’s attitude hurt Robert. It also made him angry. He couldn’t understand why Aaron refused to acknowledge the threat Brooke posed to both of them. After all, Aaron’s violently homophobic mother actually owned Townsend Realty, not Aaron. If she had any idea that Aaron was gay, she’d jerk the business away from him before he knew what hit him. She’d write him out of the will, and if Robert knew the old witch as well as he thought he did, with her considerable influence she’d poison every well in the local business world against Aaron.

  As he drove, Robert kept catching himself gripping the steering wheel and sitting with his back stiff as a board. He would draw a deep breath, let his back curve slightly, and loosen his hands on the wheel. Two minutes later, he’d be rigid and clutching again. He even began grinding his teeth, which he hadn’t done since he was ten.

  He wasn’t sure how long he’d cruised around town before he ended up at Brooke’s apartment building. He orbited the block twice, immediately seeing the police surveillance car parked out front. That quashed the idea of bearding Brooke in her den. If he cared to humiliate himself like he had this afternoon by pounding on her door, she’d sic the cops on him in a minute. But even if he had the chance, he wouldn’t try talking to her like that again, he decided. Reasoning was useless with a woman in love, a woman bent on revenge. Still, even as he told himself these things, he was parking half a block away from her apartment building, determined to see her and give talking with her, begging if necessary, one last try.

  When Robert got out of the car, rain began to fall. Getting back in the car and simply driving away never occurred to him. He just turned up the collar of his trench coat, lowered his head, and circled the block on foot. Once he glanced up and thought he saw Aaron’s BMW parked on the other side of the street but couldn’t see the license plate. Oh well, Aaron wouldn’t be sitting around in his car on a middle-class street in the rain. I’m just jumpy, Robert told himself, and I have to calm down if I’m going to do this.

  He approached the apartment building from behind, being careful to walk like an innocent man simply trying to hurry out of the rain as he passed the second surveillance car parked behind the apartment house. Suddenly the rain picked up and before the cops could turn on their windshield wipers, Robert quickly darted into the alley running between Brooke’s building and the one next to it.

  He sidled closer to the brick structure and walked to where he could look directly up at a third-floor window he knew was Brooke’s. A fire escape crawled up the side of the building, passing within a couple of feet of her window. How easy it would be to pull down the lower section of the ladder, climb up to Brooke’s bedroom window like an aging Romeo, and enter the apartment. If the window was locked, he wasn’t above breaking the glass near the lock to open it. He’d pay for the damage later. Brooke would probably scream when she first saw him. He could tell from the dim light in the bedroom that she was in the living room. He thought he could even hear music. Something classical. Maybe if she was drinking wine, she’d be calm and not go berserk when she saw him.

  Robert’s hands had begun to tremble. He’d always been “the good boy,” the one who followed all the rules, the kid who had never skipped school or even gotten a traffic ticket. Yet here he was planning to climb a fire escape and break into a woman’s apartment. But all he wanted to do was talk to her. Abruptly his father’s face flashed in front of his eyes, a face full of pride and love slowly changing into one of shame, even revulsion, if he discovered his son was homosexual. Yes, Robert would just talk to Brooke. Unless it took more than just talking. . . .

  He moved closer to the building, inching closer to the fire escape. He passed the Dumpster, the smell rising up to greet him almost as a warning that he was doing something dark and dirty and foul. Something deep within him told him not to continue, but he couldn’t stop himself. Fear raced through him like it had when he was a little boy and a storm raged outside. But if he didn’t make sure Brooke would keep his secret, he would face another storm—a storm of the soul when he lost his father’s love and respect.

  Robert had reached the fire escape. The bottom rung hung about ten feet above the alley to prevent people from climbing up the steps to do exactly what Robert was planning to do. Although he was six foot two, the bottom rung was still far above Robert’s head. He’d played basketball in high school, though. How many times had he jumped up and touched the ten-foot-high rim of the basket? That was over seventeen years ago, but he’d stayed in good shape. He could probably grab that bottom rung, pull down the lower section, and easily climb the ladder.

  The rain had picked up. He fumbled with the collar of his designer raincoat Aaron had bought him for his birthday, but rain still crept down his neck, wetting his shirt. His brown hair plastered itself to his forehead, the ends getting into his eyes. He brushed it aside, leaped, and caught the wet rung. Before he could clench his hands, though, he slipped loose. His feet slid on the slick pavement and he fell, painfully smashing the back of his head about an inch from a puddle. God, how embarrassing, he thought, lying in a wet alley like a drunk. He should just forget this ridiculous plan and go home. But Brooke had gone to his home and talked to his father. What would she do next? Tell him everything? Robert had to see her tonight, and this seemed to be the only way.

  Robert opened his eyes against the pouring rain, tried to stand up, and lost his footing again on the slick pavement, this time landing on his left side. With a groan, he turned his head, and for a heart-stopping moment he saw a face looming over him. Then it hit him—a piercing, excruciating jab in his back. He made a choking sound, the air pushed out of his mouth by the torturous pain ripping through him. He reached around to the right side of his mid-back. For an instant he felt something metal and sharp-edged before it vanished. “What?” he muttered as pain ripped through him again. This time he tried to scream, but the sound was weak and mewling. Blinking furiously against the rain, once again he saw a form above him, but only for an instant.

  Vaguely he thought he should get up, fight off his attacker, run if he had to, but the pain was too great for him to fight and he could feel blood gushing from his back. My kidneys, he thought vaguely. Someone stabbed me in the kidneys.

  He felt rather than saw a person kneel beside him, place two hands on his midsection, and turn him over. His face landed in a puddle, water coming to the tops of his ears. He closed his eyes tightly, but he could do nothing about the filthy water running into his ears and creeping beneath his eyelids. He tried to lift his arms, to get his hands on the pavement so he could push up and attempt to rise, but he just didn’t have the energy. From somewhere deep in his brain a fact from a hi
gh school physiology class flashed into his memory: The kidneys receive a quarter of cardiac output. One-fourth of the blood that flowed through him every time his heart thumped went straight to his kidneys. And now, straight out of his body. Blood that he needed. Blood he would die without.

  This thought registered with him just as another unbearable pain seared his back. Someone sure wants to make sure I never leave this alley, he thought with one last flash of macabre humor.

  Miraculously, he managed to lift his head out of the puddle so he could draw a gasping breath. Blinking away the tears and the rain, he saw a figure beside him. The face, a pale blur, was only inches from his. Then Robert saw the right arm rise, stiffening for another vicious strike with a glinting metal blade. “Please, not again,” Robert muttered at the black holes masquerading as eyes that seemed to burn in the white blur of a face. “I’m already dead.”

  twelve

  1

  Warm air flowed over Brooke’s face. A long, stiff hair brushed across her upper lip. A slightly damp nose caressed her cheek. Keeping her eyes closed, she murmured, “That has to be Antonio Banderas or”—she opened her eyes—“Elise!”

  The blond dog trampled joyfully over the bed, darting up to give Brooke a lick on the nose. Brooke hugged her, feeling the dog’s heart beating strongly beneath her ribs, and ran her hands over Elise’s soft, short hair. She’d had Elise for only two years, but now she couldn’t imagine life without the energetic, happy little creature. Elise was always ecstatic to see her, always ready to snuggle when Brooke was feeling down, always eager to go for a walk or a run when Brooke got out the leash, and had a habit of rolling into a ball on the couch beside her mistress and snoring loudly through some of Brooke’s favorite late-night movies.

  “I’ll bet you need a trip outside,” Brooke said. “Give me ten minutes.”