Last Whisper

by Carlene Thompson

  “Oh, darn!” she cried. “Why did you lead me on so long?”

  “Because you looked so smug. Where’s my dollar?”

  “I’ll give it to you later.”

  “But I need it now. We’re just about out of gas.”

  “And you were planning to fill up on a dollar?”

  “No. I lied.”

  “Figures. Where are we going, anyway?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  They began climbing a hill, the powerful engine of the Mercedes purring with confidence, Vincent smiling, Brooke watching Elise look around in fascination. They came to a fork in the road and Vincent turned right. Onward they climbed until at last they came to Coonskin Park.

  “I haven’t been here for over ten years,” Vincent said.

  “Then you’ll be surprised at some of the changes they’ve made.”

  “Including all those ‘Dogs on Leashes’ signs?”

  “I don’t remember quite so many of them from when my grandmother used to bring me up here, but then I didn’t have a dog. It was just the two of us, rattling up here in her ancient Volkswagen. I always wanted to listen to the radio, but she insisted we sing German songs she’d learned when she was a kid.” Brooke looked at Vincent. “They were awful and so was Grossmutter’s voice. I was always so relieved when we finally reached the ‘family center’ and got out of the car.”

  He laughed. “My family took a few expeditions up this way, too. Dad always had to be in command. Mom would say, ‘Oh, Sam, let’s stop here for a family picture!’ and he’d say, ‘I know a better spot,’ which of course he never found. After I hit fourteen, coming up here with my parents was one of the most embarrassing things in the world to me. They thought I should go with the other ‘children’ for a pleasant little hike, and I wanted to join some kind of tough gang and really explore the place and do something daring.”

  “I didn’t know they had tough gangs up here,” Brooke said.

  “Oh, they probably didn’t. They were a figment of my already overproductive imagination, but I was sure they existed and as soon as they saw me standing alone, looking all cool and tough like Clint Eastwood in those Italian Westerns, they’d appear.” He threw her an abashed smile. “Stupid, wasn’t I?”

  “Creative, with a strong desire to be as strong and commanding as you imagined your father to be.”

  “Imagined?”

  “We all have weak points, Vincent. Even Sam Lockhart.”

  “Yeah? Well, they didn’t show. Not back then, at least.”

  They drove past a meandering stream with arched wooden bridges and scenic spots where cars were pulled over, some adult taking photographs of a child playing on a slope. Finally, Vincent slowed down. “Ah, the famous ‘family center’ is in view! And it looks a helluva lot more impressive than it used to.”

  “Watch your language in front of Elise,” Brooke said. “Let’s look at the ducks on the pond.”

  They parked in front of a large log building in which Brooke knew there was a restaurant and led Elise to the pond. White and brown ducks floated calmly on the sparkling water. Elise barked at them, whether as a threat or just as a hello Brooke didn’t know, but the ducks ignored her. “No respect,” Brooke said.

  “They see that she’s on a leash.”

  “They probably also know that she doesn’t like to get her paws wet. Notice how she stands at the very edge of the water. Not one toe actually goes in.”

  They walked around the pond, looking at the tennis courts, beyond to the lush golf course, and at all the colorful playground equipment placed nearby. Elise stood mesmerized, watching a boy on a skateboard do a heart-stopping flip on the ramp.

  “Did I tell you how terrific you look today?” Vincent asked.

  “Yes, but I’m wearing jeans and a T-shirt. How terrific could I possibly look? Besides, I think stress has caused a zit on my chin.”

  Vincent took her chin in his hand and tilted it up toward him. “I’m looking at you wearing barely any makeup in harsh sunlight and I can’t see one flaw.” He paused. “Except a few freckles across that perfect nose, and they aren’t flaws. They’re cute.”

  Brooke blushed, which made her furious with herself. “Are all California guys ladies’ men? Do you get a seduction manual when you cross the state line?”

  “No,” Vincent said solemnly. “Not until you reach the extreme West Coast and pay ten dollars for your official playboy badge.”

  Brooke gave him a light shove, laughing. The sun, the gentle warmth of the afternoon, the laughter of children and adults, the sight of Elise galloping along in spite of her leash, the presence of Vincent Lockhart—Vincent Lockhart telling her she looked terrific. All of it almost wiped out the horror of receiving the vase of white roses at Mia’s funeral. Almost.

  Vincent looked up at an airplane soaring above them, its silver body gleaming in the sun. “Another jet leaves Yeager Airport,” he said. Then he frowned. “Yeager Airport, named after General Charles Yeager, first man to fly faster than the speed of sound. No relation to you, I suppose.”

  “Third cousin.”

  “No way!”

  “Yes, way.”

  “Have you ever met him?”

  “Of course, Vincent.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “Confident.”

  “No kidding,” Vincent said. “Wow. If I’d known you were Chuck Yeager’s cousin . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “I would have been a whole lot nicer to you the day I met you.”

  “When you didn’t want your father to let me into the house?”

  “A lapse in judgment on my part.”

  “I’ll say. A major lapse.”

  “Major. General. What’s the difference? I apologize.” Vincent looked up at the disappearing plane. “Yeager Airport is on the next hill. Would you mind if we took a jaunt over to watch a few planes take off?”

  “Don’t tell me—you wanted to be a jet pilot when you were young.”

  “Exactly. How did you know?”

  “You’re the type.”

  “And what type is that?”

  “A closet thrill seeker,” Brooke laughed.

  “Come on, Brooke. Maybe General Yeager will just happen to be around.”

  “You know we’re probably wearing out those poor surveillance cops who’ve been assigned to follow us everywhere.”

  “Nonsense. I’m sure they’re having a ball.”

  “Whatever you say.” Brooke tugged on Elise’s leash. “C’mon, girl. We’re off on another adventure.”

  2

  “Vincent, I’m really not very hungry,” Brooke protested as Vincent ordered the giant barrel at Kentucky Fried Chicken.

  “You didn’t eat any lunch and I’ll bet you didn’t eat breakfast, either.”

  “No, I didn’t, but still—”

  “A large container of coleslaw,” he went on to the girl behind the counter, “six orders of French fries, at least twenty hush puppies, two orders of hot wings . . .”

  Brooke looked outside at Elise sitting on the lap of one of the surveillance cops. Her front paws were firmly planted on the dashboard, her gaze fixed on Brooke, who’d placed herself in full view of the dog. Elise looked only slightly anxious. The cop whose lap she sat on looked intensely annoyed. The one behind the wheel was laughing.

  “Vincent, we really shouldn’t have pushed Elise off on that guy. His clothes are going to be covered with hair.”

  “And one pecan pie and one cheesecake,” Vincent ended.

  The girl behind the counter smiled. “One piece each, sir?”

  “A whole pecan pie and a whole cheesecake. And lots of strawberry syrup for the cheesecake.” He turned to Brooke. “Can you think of anything else?”

  “Is this dinner for two or are we feeding a third-world country?”

  He turned back to the girl at the counter. “She’s thin, but believe me, she could eat a horse.”

  The girl smiled uncertainly at Broo
ke and turned away, handing the order sheet into the kitchen. Brooke glared at Vincent. “She’s going to think most of that is for me.”

  “We’ll give some to Elise.”

  “Either you’re crazy or you’re planning something I don’t know about.”

  “You have about twenty minutes until we get back to your place. Then you can decide.”

  Brooke turned away, self-conscious, but admitting to herself she was famished. Vincent was right—she hadn’t eaten a bite all day. It was now almost seven in the evening and Brooke could feel that at any moment her stomach was going to let out a ferocious growl.

  Twenty minutes later they climbed out of Vincent’s car, each carrying bags of food, Brooke leading Elise, who seemed to have a new spring in her step after her wonderful day.

  As soon as they entered the lobby, Harry Dormer descended upon them. “Hey, whatever you got in those bags smells great! Havin’ a party? Me and Eunice are free tonight, no big plans.”

  “We’re not having a party,” Vincent said pleasantly. “We’re just hungry.”

  “Damn, you must be! Looks like you got enough stuff for ten people in there. Do I smell chicken? Kentucky Fried, I bet. I love Kentucky Fried chicken!”

  He stood by, throwing them his most charming smile, which wasn’t saying much, but each politely ignored him. “Did anyone stop by to see me today, Harry?” Brooke asked.

  Seeing that he wasn’t going to be invited to dinner, Harry immediately turned surly. “Wouldn’t know. I’m not the doorman. I have important stuff to do all day besides watch who comes and goes.”

  “I understand,” Brooke said, pretending not to notice his sulky look. “How’s Eunice today?”

  “Same as usual, I guess.” He gave the bags of food one last longing glance. “Guess I better go give her an insulin shot. Looks like after all these years, she could manage it herself.”

  “She probably just feels more confident with you giving it to her,” Vincent said. “Steady hands, unflinching in the sight of blood. You know how women admire that kind of thing.”

  “Yeah,” Harry agreed, somewhat appeased and only a bit suspicious that Vincent was patronizing him. “She can’t get along without me, but she can be a real millstone around your throat.”

  “Neck,” Vincent said.

  Harry’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

  “A millstone around your neck. That’s the saying.”

  Harry shrugged. “I don’t fool around learning literary sayings,” he said dismissively. “Well, have a good time with all that food.”

  “We will,” Vincent assured him cheerfully.

  “He’s going to be seething all evening,” Brooke muttered as they got in the elevator.

  “He probably is anyway. I get the feeling Harry’s not too happy with his life.”

  “Eunice thinks he has a mistress.”

  Vincent burst out laughing. “One who looks like Catherine Zeta-Jones and has the mind of Einstein, no doubt. Eunice doesn’t know how lucky she is Harry doesn’t run off with this dream woman.”

  “I don’t know how accurate the word ‘lucky’ is.”

  They stepped off on the third floor and walked down the hall. As they passed Stacy and Jay’s door, Vincent kicked it lightly twice, his arms full of food, and yelled, “Dinner’s here!”

  Immediately the door flew open and Jay stood there, grinning. “Thought we’d starve to death before you got here.”

  “What’s going on?” Brooke asked.

  “When we left the airport and you went in the hospital to see your grandmother, I called Jay and asked if he and Stacy were up for a real Saturday night blowout with a couple of wild spirits like us.”

  “And it took me about two seconds to say yes,” Jay laughed. “Hey, Stace, they’re here! Bring the margaritas.” He looked at Brooke. “She made a whole pitcher.”

  A party, Brooke thought, touched. Vincent was determined to entertain her all day to keep her mind off the fright she’d suffered at Mia’s funeral. It was sweet. It was romantic. It was scary.

  Ten minutes later Brooke and Stacy were busy unpacking what seemed like an endless amount of food and putting it on plates while the men watched a cop show in the living room, each already holding a margarita. “I had no idea Vincent was arranging this,” Brooke said to Stacy.

  Stacy grinned, adding a hot wing to what she’d deemed would be Jay’s plate. “I think he’s smitten, Brooke.”

  “That’s silly. He’s only known me a couple of days.”

  “Jay and I fell for each other in about twenty-four hours. We had a date, stayed up all night talking, called each other back and forth throughout the next day, and by that evening, my fate was sealed. I knew I’d be Mrs. Jay Corrigan within the next month, and I was right.”

  “You’re impulsive, though,” Brooke said. “I’m not.”

  “Then maybe you should loosen up a little bit,” Stacy said, handing her a margarita with one hand and picking up Jay’s plate with the other. “Virtue is not its own reward, no matter what they say.”

  “Stacy, I just met him! Besides, I thought you were suspicious of him.”

  “I changed my mind when he brought us dinner. Besides, he’s got a cool car.”

  “You are so deep.”

  “You have no idea,” Stacy said, sounding a tad serious in spite of her grin. “Honestly, maybe he isn’t such a bad guy to have a fling with, especially after Robert. But I’d still watch myself with him, Brooke. He’s extremely attentive for a guy who’s just met you, coincidentally on the day when you were shot at.”

  “You’re not saying you think he tried to kill me!”

  “No, I don’t think he tried to kill you.” Stacy paused. “I’d just watch myself around him, if I were you. He’s damned attractive and successful and charming—”

  “So what’s he doing hanging around me?”

  Stacy rolled her eyes. “Are you trying to pick a fight?”

  “No, but you just seem so amazed that he’s ‘attentive’ to me, as you put it.”

  “I’m not amazed. You’re a beautiful woman. It’s just that he writes about famous murder cases. ‘The Rose Murder’ wasn’t exactly on the level of the O. J. Simpson case, but now that Zach Tavell is out and apparently after you, your appeal for Mr. True Crime Writer out there might have grown.” Stacy closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m saying this all wrong. It’s coming out like an insult, and I certainly didn’t mean it that way. I’m just telling you—”

  “To watch myself around him. You already said that.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to get your heart broken, Brooke.”

  “I won’t.” Brooke lifted her chin slightly and said with spirit, “I’m not even all that attracted to him. He’s simply a nice change after Robert. He’s lively and fun. And like you said, he’s got a cool car.”

  Stacy laughed. “That’s a girl! Just have a good time with him. And when he goes back to California—”

  “I’ll look for an equally attractive, successful, charming man. They’re all over the place.”

  “They are, if you’d just stop being such a recluse. After all, I met one.” Stacy smiled at her affectionately. “Never mind me, kiddo. I just want the best for you. And maybe this guy is as sincere as he seems to be. I certainly hope so. A romance between you two would be fantastic, just what you deserve.”

  Brooke couldn’t remember a time when her apartment had been filled with so much noise and gaiety. Ever since she’d moved in, she’d lived quietly. Although she’d dated some, Stacy and Jay had never joined her and a boyfriend for an evening.

  Elise had been given so many scraps of chicken, she’d eaten herself into a stupor and fallen asleep in her doggie bed after her wildly adventurous day. She kicked and whined a few times in her sleep. “She’s dreaming of chasing rabbits,” Jay said with assurance.

  “Why do people always say when dogs make noise in their sleep they’re dreaming of chasing rabbits?” Brooke asked. “I don’t think she�
�s ever seen a rabbit in her life.”

  “It’s genetic memory,” Vincent said in mock seriousness. “She had an ancestor who saw a rabbit. The vision was so terrifying, it passed through generations to Elise.”

  “You’ve had too many margaritas,” Brooke laughed. “Jay, he’s cut off.”

  “Nonsense. We have enough tequila and mix for another pitcher.”

  “Oh, lord,” Brooke moaned. “Do you know what we’re all going to feel like tomorrow?”

  “Better than you did this morning,” Stacy said. “I heard about what happened at the funeral.”

  “Stace,” Jay said reprovingly.

  “Well, not talking about it isn’t going to make her forget it. Why don’t you tell her what you found out today?”

  Jay looked reluctant, but Brooke pressed him. “Jay, please. I won’t let it get to me; I promise.”

  Jay took a deep breath. “Okay. I understand you not wanting to be kept in the dark. I’m afraid we didn’t find out much and with Myers on the case, you know it’s not for lack of trying. The vase of flowers came from City Floral. Different floral shop than the flower you got at the Lockhart house, but the same MO. Someone called in and ordered the flowers using a credit card. Not the same number, obviously, since the card used before has been canceled. The person who took the order was an older woman who unfortunately doesn’t hear too well. She wasn’t sure if the voice was a high-pitched man’s, or a low-pitched woman’s.”

  “Great,” Brooke said in disappointment.

  “The woman said she did think it was odd that the caller specified a vase of white roses, not a funeral wreath, and that the vase be delivered to and left in the minister’s office, not put out with the rest of the flowers around Mia’s casket.”

  “What about the teenager who brought the flowers to Brooke?” Vincent asked.

  Jay shrugged. “We don’t know a thing about her. We checked with everyone who attended the funeral. No one claimed to have brought a girl of that age and description with them. The minister didn’t even see her. His wife did, but she said she was so busy greeting people and getting them seated that she didn’t pay much attention to the girl except to notice how pretty she was. She didn’t ask her name.”