Last Whisper

by Carlene Thompson

  “I know,” she said gently. “I also know who did this to me. That girl—the one who was at Mia’s funeral.”

  Vincent frowned. “The girl at Mia’s funeral? What are you talking about?”

  “The pretty girl who handed me the vase of roses was at the planetarium, only looking extremely different. Lots of makeup, hair tossed back so you could see four earrings in one lobe, cheap come-and-get-me clothes. She looked at least eighteen, not sixteen like she did at the funeral.”

  “You didn’t say anything about her.”

  “I wasn’t sure it was her at first. I wasn’t really sure until after this happened.”

  Vincent looked at her seriously. “Brooke, it was dim in there.”

  “Not while the show was going on. At times it got really bright.”

  “And you looked at her then?”

  “A couple of times.”

  “Did she look back?”

  “Once. It was just a glance and she acted like she’d never seen me before. She turned right back to her boyfriend—”

  “She was there with a guy?”

  “Yes. About the same age. Longish, sort of greasy black hair. A tattoo on his neck. He had that same trashy look she did. They couldn’t take their hands off each other.”

  “And you’re sure this was the girl at the funeral?”

  Brooke got impatient. “Yes, Vincent, I am. After all, no one at the funeral knew who the girl was. She gave me the flowers from Zach. Don’t you see? He planted her there, just to give me the flowers. He probably found her on some street corner and, in spite of her striking outfit and makeup, noticed her resemblance to me, my mother, Mia. He thought the whole plan with the flowers would scare the hell out of me, which it did. All he needed was for her to clean up and to buy her a sweet, innocent-looking dress and—”

  Vincent held up his hand. “You could be right.”

  “You’re not going to argue with me?”

  “I can hardly ignore that both times this girl no one knows has been around, something bad has happened to you.” He grinned. “Do you think you have a dumb boyfriend or something?”

  Boyfriend? Had he called himself her boyfriend? It sounded so adolescent. So presumptuous. So foolishly wonderful.

  “But Brooke, don’t forget that Judith Lambert was there, too, and you said she doesn’t like you.”

  “Yes, but she hasn’t liked me for a long time and nothing has happened to me.”

  “Maybe she was biding her time.”

  “Maybe,” Brooke said reluctantly. “But I can’t get that blond girl out of my mind.”

  “Okay. The police will want you to confer with a sketch artist,” Vincent said. “We both helped with the first one after the church incident, but you’re on your own with this one, because I didn’t see her.”

  “I remember her perfectly. But the sooner I talk to the artist, the better, so I don’t forget any details.”

  “Want to go to headquarters now?”

  “Not quite yet. While we’re here at the hospital, I’m going up to see my grandmother,” Brooke said quickly.

  “Are you going to tell her what happened?”

  “Heavens, no! The last thing she needs is something else to worry her. Does my face look okay? I mean, not like I’ve been crying or in pain or frightened?”

  “You look beautiful, as always,” Vincent said.

  “Yes, well, that’s debatable.” Brooke’s voice was crisp, but only from embarrassment. He’d sounded tender and admiring. “Do you want to go with me?”

  “I think I’ll stay in the waiting room, if you don’t mind. I’m not as good at hiding my feelings as you are. Your grandmother is still sharp, Brooke. If you don’t want her to worry, don’t let her get a good look into your eyes. She knows you too well.”

  “Better than anyone does,” Brook answered. “Well, if you’ll remove yourself from the premises, I’ll get dressed.”

  Vincent grinned. “The police took your dress so they could identify the chemical.”

  “The whole dress?” Brooke burst out. “The doctor told me a lab was going to run tests to see what the liquid was, but I thought they might have just cut a little piece out of the dress.”

  “Cops are thorough, Brooke. They took the whole thing.”

  “Well, what am I supposed to do? Wear this hospital gown home?”

  “It looks like an expensive designer gown, Brooke,” Vincent said seriously. “I don’t think they’ll just let you take it.”

  Brooke glanced down at the thin gown with its ugly blue, unidentifiable pattern against white. “Yes, I’m sure it’s a designer gown. It must have cost five whole dollars. What am I supposed to do? Go up to see Grandmother in my bra and panties?”

  “And shoes. They left your shoes.”

  “Wonderful. This couldn’t be coat weather, could it? That would give me something to wear.”

  “If it had been coat weather, your back would have been protected,” Vincent said.

  “Oh, quit being so reasonable,” Brooke snapped, knowing none of this was Vincent’s fault, but annoyed with him anyway just because he was the only person around. “Please call Stacy. She’ll bring me something to wear.”

  “Will do, ma’am. But what if she’s not home?”

  “Just call her,” Brooke said. “If she’s not home, I’ll think of another solution.”

  “I liked the bra and panties idea.”

  Brooke gritted her teeth. Now that Vincent was certain she wasn’t seriously injured, he was getting too much enjoyment out of this situation. “Just call her, dammit.”

  Twenty minutes later Stacy arrived carrying an A-line dress in a paper sack. “Vincent said for me to bring something without a waistline. You have mostly suits and I finally had to look in my closet. I found a dress, but it will be longer than you like since I’m taller than you.” She looked at Brooke in anxiety. “Vincent said something about a burn on your back. Let me see.”

  “It’s covered with a bandage, Stacy.”

  “Oh. Well, how bad a burn? How did you get it?”

  Brooke slid out of her attractive hospital robe and reached for the gray silk shantung dress. “We went to the planetarium. As we were coming out, walking down that dark hall, someone jabbed me with something.”

  “Jabbed you?”

  “Yes.” Brooke went into details as she slid on the silk-shantung dress and reached for the zipper. “The doctor says I’m suffering from some kind of chemical burn. The police took the dress to a lab for testing.”

  Stacy was right. The body of the dress was only a bit loose, but the hem hung three inches below Brooke’s knees and made her feel like a little girl dressed in her mother’s clothes. She said nothing, though, and stepped back into her high-heeled sandals.

  “I’m sorry for dragging you down here with something for me to wear, but since the police took my dress—”

  Stacy waved away her apology. “Jay’s watching some baseball game—I hate baseball—and I was restless. Vincent’s call caught me just before I left for a walk. I’m not a big fan of solitary walks with only my thoughts to keep me company, so you did me a favor, made me feel useful.”

  “You are extremely useful. First spending the night with me, then bringing me clothes at the hospital. What would I do without you?”

  “Sleep alone and be naked.”

  “You take gratitude so gracefully, Stacy.”

  Stacy grinned. “It just makes me feel silly. Ready to go home?”

  “No. I’m going up to see my grandmother first. You can go, though. You don’t have to wait for Vincent and me.”

  “I’d prefer to wait,” Stacy said, then with a wink, “I want to make sure you two goofy kids get home safe and sound. I also want to make sure I get my dress back.”

  “You are just a riot, Stacy,” Brooke said, smiling for the first time since they’d left the planetarium.

  2

  Vincent drove Brooke home, then stayed at Brooke’s only long enough t
o drink a glass of iced tea. He didn’t like the idea of leaving her alone, but she seemed oddly calm as well as tired. Perhaps the pain medication she’d been given was affecting her, he thought. Anyway, she didn’t argue with him when he said he should be going, although it was fairly early in the evening. He had a feeling she just wanted to go to bed, if only to rest. Thinking she might not be as alert as she should be under the circumstances, he checked all the window locks, then listened from the hall for the door lock and dead bolt. He hoped Stacy would offer to spend the night again; then he drove home.

  When he walked in the house, all the lights were off. Sam never went to bed this early, and when he did go to bed he always left on a lamp in the living room, just as Vincent’s mother had insisted on doing when she was alive. Frightened, Vincent called out, “Dad!” a couple of times, stumbled over to a lamp, turned it on, and readied himself for a search of the house.

  The lamp near the door nearly blinded him, the bulb in it much too bright, and after blinking a couple of times, Vincent saw Sam sitting in his favorite chair, an album on his lap, staring straight ahead. Vincent looked at the man’s unblinking blue eyes. “Dad?” he said softly, almost fearfully. Sam was rock still, still staring. “Dad?”

  Suddenly Sam blinked, looked at Vincent, and said, “Well, at last, Son. I told you not to keep the car out past dark. Your mother’s been worried sick.”

  Vincent realized he’d been holding his breath. He let it out slowly and said, “I’m sorry about the car, Dad. I got held up—”

  “Now, those excuses don’t work anymore,” Sam said firmly. “You’re supposed to be in by eleven.”

  “But Dad, it’s not eleven yet.” Vincent realized he’d fallen into the same tone he’d used when he was sixteen. He pulled himself together and said in an adult voice, “Something did happen, though, or I would have been home earlier.”

  Abruptly, Sam looked alarmed. “A car wreck?”

  “No, not a car accident.”

  “Is anyone hurt?”

  “No. Everyone is fine. Well, almost fine.”

  Sam’s white eyebrows drew together. “Almost fine. What does that mean?”

  “It was Brooke.” His father’s frown deepened. “She’s all right. I just dropped her at her apartment.”

  “Apartment? Doesn’t she live here?”

  Alarm filled Vincent. Had his father forgotten most of what he knew about Brooke? “No, Dad, Brooke is twenty-six now and she has her own place.”

  Vincent watched his father closely. He saw something move behind the older man’s eyes, and he suddenly looked more alert. “Sure she has her own place. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “Sometimes your memory just . . . takes a break.”

  Sam started laughing. “Takes a break. That’s a good one! But you always were good with words, Vincent. Straight As in English. Not so good in math, though.”

  “No, I wasn’t. I’m still not, which is why I’m a writer, not a nuclear physicist.”

  “But you’re a good writer. Everyone says so. Your mom was proud as punch of you.”

  “Well, that’s what publishers always want to hear—that your mom likes your writing. They can’t snatch up a book fast enough when they hear that one.”

  Sam frowned again. “So you’re fine. But Brooke isn’t.”

  “No, Dad, she isn’t. She needs to get out of Charleston, but she won’t because of her grandmother. We stopped by the hospital this evening. After seeing her grandmother, Brooke looked awful. She finally admitted the doctor told her Greta is failing and probably won’t live more than a few days. I told Brooke her grandmother would want her to get out of danger. After all, she’s tried to keep Brooke safe all her life. But Brooke is stubborn. I have to say, her courage is one of the things I admire about her, but at the same time, it frustrates the hell out of me.”

  Sam smiled. “She was a plucky little girl. That’s one of the things Laura and I loved about her.” He slanted a look at Vincent. “One of the things I think you love about her, too.”

  Vincent flushed. “Love? Dad, I just met Brooke a few days ago. I like her. I respect her. I have fun with her. But love? That’s ludicrous.”

  “Yeah, well, whatever you say, Son.” Sam grinned in a way that made Vincent want to protest more about how he certainly did not love Brooke Yeager, but he knew his father. Once he got an idea in his head, there was no shaking it loose, no matter how much you argued. He’d just let Sam think what pleased him. But love!

  “We have to get Tavell,” Sam began again, his grin fading. “The son of a bitch managed to break out of prison and he’s after my Cinnamon Girl. After all these years, when she got into trouble, she came to me. And what have I done? Exactly nothing, because I’m just an old, useless man now.” He wiped at his eyes. “Sorry, Son.”

  “Dad, you’re not old and useless,” Vincent said softly, feeling his own throat tighten.

  “Yes, I am. Pretty much. I think your mother’s death finished me off. Mentally, that is. Not that I’m blaming her. She was the best woman who ever lived. I never understood why out of all the men she could have had, she chose me.”

  “She loved you.”

  Sam nodded. Then his eyes clouded. “She did indeed. I felt it every day. And I’ve felt her absence every single minute of the last three years.”

  Vincent nodded. “I miss her, too, Dad.”

  “Seems impossible that she’s gone,” Sam went on. “I was sure she’d be alive long after I was dead. I used to fret about that. Who would have taken care of her if I wasn’t here?”

  “I would have,” Vincent said.

  Sam patted him on the hand. “Yes, you’re a good boy. Always were, except for those few wild years you went through. I was concerned about you then.”

  “Because I tried to be in a rock band and rode my friend’s motorcycle?” Vincent smiled. “You thought the next step was robbing jewelry stores? Dealing heroin?”

  Sam grinned. “Silly, wasn’t I? But you never stop worrying about your kids.”

  “That’s good to know. Some of us never need for you to stop worrying.”

  “Not you. You’ve got the world by the tail. Brooke is another matter. Tell me what happened to her today.”

  “Sure you’re not too tired to sit up and talk with me for a while?”

  “I’m not a toddler. It’s barely dark. Get us each a beer and I’ll talk your leg off.”

  Vincent got them the beer, turned on a couple of dimmer lights, then told his father what had happened at the planetarium. “Is Brooke all right?” Sam asked.

  “Yes. I think she has a first-degree burn, but it’s small.”

  “And you believe this girl Brooke spotted—the one that looked like the girl who gave her the roses at that funeral—is responsible.” Vincent nodded. “How?”

  “The hallway was dark and crowded. I got separated from Brooke. The girl could have come up and sprayed something caustic on Brooke, then stuck her in the back a couple of times with a needle. The lab will let us know soon what it was.” Vincent leaned forward, rolling the can of beer between his hands. “What I’m wondering is who this girl is and why she’s working for Zach.”

  “The why is easy,” Sam said. “Money. Who she is, well, that’s another matter. But you said she looked about eighteen.”

  “At the funeral home I would have said sixteen tops. I didn’t see her at the planetarium, but Brooke said she looked about eighteen. Of course, at the funeral home she was wearing a white dress, very demure, no makeup, straight hair. Brooke said at the planetarium she had on heavy makeup, tight grungy clothes, a lot of cheap jewelry.”

  “But Brooke is certain it’s the same girl.”

  “She’s about ninety percent certain. The clothes and makeup could easily make the girl look a couple of years older. And she was with a guy. I wonder if Zach hired both of them? There’s a reward for Zach’s capture. If he did, though, I’d think he’d be worried about messing with a couple of money-hung
ry kids just so he can scare Brooke. After all, both you and Brooke have told me Zach was smart. Cagey. Using that girl doesn’t sound like the act of a smart man to me.”

  “Fifteen years in prison might dull a man’s wits, Vincent. Besides, they said at the prison he’d gone a little crazy lately. Something’s not quite right with his mind. He’s not as sharp as he used to be, they said.”

  “Tavell? Good God, he broke out of a maximum security prison and has stayed free during a huge manhunt, not to mention killed Robert Eads almost right under the nose of two surveillance teams.”

  “Maybe not Eads,” Sam said slowly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Hal was here earlier today. He said he’s not so sure Eads’s boyfriend didn’t have something to do with Eads’s murder. That young partner of his feels the same way.”

  “Jay Corrigan?”

  “Yeah. Hal seems to think the boy’s got a lot on the ball. Anyway, they interviewed that real estate guy—”

  “Aaron Townsend.”

  “Townsend, right. He acted nervous as hell. Tried to make it seem like he and Eads barely knew each other. But he made a couple of slips.”

  Vincent leaned back in his chair. “Why would Aaron Townsend want to hurt Eads?”

  “Hal says Townsend’s mother controls the family fortune and she doesn’t think too much of homosexuals. He thinks she doesn’t know about her son and he’s frantic to keep her from finding out because if she does—” Sam broke off and took a deep drink of beer. “Well, she’d probably cut him out of the will, to say the least. Hal said young Corrigan found out all about the mother from Brooke. How controlling she is, how nervous Townsend gets when she comes to the office, that kind of thing. She says people that work for Townsend think he’s afraid of his mother.”

  “I still don’t understand why Townsend would be a suspect in the Eads murder. Eads wasn’t going to run to Mrs. Townsend with the news that he and her son were lovers.”

  “He wouldn’t have let her know on purpose, but Hal says Eads sort of fell apart after Brooke found out about him and Townsend. Eads kept following her, making scenes—you know all that. He and Corrigan think maybe Townsend was afraid Eads would lose it altogether and accidentally blow the big secret sky-high, so he decided to shut up Eads.”