Tea, Anyone

by S. R. Mallery

  Without warning, Simon jumped into a half empty boat and yanked Abby down beside him. While several men paddled steadily toward a large, full-rigged ship called the Eleanor, she looked upward and let her natural spirituality distract her. She studied the curtain of jeweled stars above them, sprinkled across the dark night sky. It was so beautiful. Then reality resurfaced, and she felt a sudden jolt of fear. Behind them, a musket had just fired, and someone let out a blood-curdling scream.

  With a large whoosh, Abby was back in her garage, sitting in the Packard and staring down at the Tarot cards.

  Her heart pounding, her head fuzzy, she gripped the steering wheel as her lifeline. Take deep breaths. Take deep breaths.

  She inhaled deeply. Then exhaled nice and slow several times. But her mind was far from peaceful.

  OMG. What was about to happen?

  Another large inhale then exhale, and she shook her head. “Brooke will never believe me now.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Brooke glowered at Abby. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck had not only jerked up to attention, if they could speak, they’d be screaming.

  “Hold on. What do you mean you got nothing we can use yet? Let’s see. I think it was you who convinced me not only how great this clairvoyant stuff was but also how fantastic you were.”

  “I know, but sometimes these things––”

  Brooke was having none of it. “Do you know what this is gonna look like to Chief Bruner? Remember what he said, that it’s basically my fault if you are a dud.”

  “Brooke, I promise I’m going back. Sometimes it takes several trips to get some real intel.”

  A loud puff shot off of Brooke’s lips. “Oh, puleeze! Spare me.”

  “Like you get everything right all the time,” Abby muttered.

  “What did you just say?” Brooke leaned in toward the Tarot-reading visitor, her eyes narrowed into slits.

  Abby put one hand on her hip. “Henry told me you once messed up big time on one of the first research jobs you did for the police. He said the chief was really pissed off, but you convinced him that sometimes perseverance is what gets results.”

  Brooke muttered something indecipherable.

  “Aha! You see?” Abby said. “You yourself believe in the ‘If At First You Don’t Succeed Try Try Again’ philosophy. Actually, we may be twins.” She chuckled.

  Sinking back down onto the sofa, Brooke took a large swallow of her heavy-duty espresso coffee. “Don’t press your luck, Abby.”

  Abby sat down across from her. “Look, I’m going to go back and hopefully, in the middle of the Boston Tea Party, a big clue will suddenly pop up. Meantime, maybe don’t say anything yet to the captain.”

  “Why the Boston Tea Party, for God’s sake?”

  “My research says Massachusetts, and particularly Boston, was a hot bed of rebellion. Much hotter than the other colonies. I figure I’d start there and see where it took me.”

  “Yeah, good luck with that one. Chief Bruner has a sixth sense when it comes to me. He knows something’s up without me even saying anything.” She drew a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll keep my mouth shut. But you better find something, Abby. Get it?”

  She finished her coffee then returned her mug to the kitchen. “In an hour, I’m gonna meet Henry at my Fit & Fun class. Talk to you later.” She paused. “By the way, Henry wants you to come to the class with us some time. How about now?”

  “No, not for me. I’m a yoga person.”

  “You want me to forgive you for nada info? Then do Henry that favor and come with us. Be back here in twenty minutes dressed for gym. Think about this. No intel also means no extra holding of Junebug whenever you’re over here.” She knew that would get under Abby’s skin.

  It worked.

  “Okay, Brooke. You’re on. But this means you have to come to my support group sometime.”

  “Sure.” Yeah, right.

  * *

  Arriving just as the fitness class was about to begin, Brooke noticed the loud chatter circulating around the room sounded like geese at a lake’s edge. She was grateful for it. The noise helped her forget how embarrassed she felt walking into the room with Abby––and her outfit. Bold, rainbow colors silkscreened onto a thin cotton top along with pink leggings and orange woolen leg warmers á la exercise gurus of the ‘80s, drew more than a few looks and giggles.

  “What’s going on?” Brooke asked Henry, who was positively grinning at Abby.

  Finally, he glanced down at Brooke’s foot tapping. “Sorry. Just happy Abby is here. But I think the general mood of the class has something to do with Wynnie and Cathy not being here.”

  The chatter slowly turned into distinct sentences.

  “Well, good riddance to them, I say,” Barbell Barbie declared. “They thought they were better than the rest of us.”

  “Yeah,” Salsa Suzette added. “Just ‘cause they’ve got tons of money doesn’t mean they’re royalty, for goodness sake.”

  At the front of the room, Helen Lawson had finished setting up her iPod for the class and swirled around. “People, let’s be better than this. We should all move on. The Whitman sisters have chosen to leave us, and that’s their prerogative. So, let’s just concentrate on ourselves, shall we?”

  Brooke glanced over at a grinning Henry. Yep. He’s a happy camper today. He’s got Abby––his new “daughter.”

  A quick shower at the gym after the class ended, and Brooke and Abby were ready to go home. Abby needed to prepare for another historical launch. Brooke had to do some police research––American sack races of the past in particular. A strange area, yes, but a lead she thought of because throughout time, people have used old, potato sacks to play this game. Americana at its best.

  But as good as Brooke had become in this investigative area––“The Hacker,” Larry called her––she knew Henry was even savvier. He could find the most minute detail on some unknown subject that most people wouldn’t think twice about. In fact, there had been a couple of times when he had jumped in and saved her after she ran into trouble getting information. That got her thinking. Maybe she should also get him involved in Larry and Tony’s new case. Make it official. She could tell he was probably itching to attack it. She knew all the signs. His not asking her any questions about it but hanging around her desk area when he thought she wasn’t looking. Henry, I got your number.

  After Henry emerged from the men’s locker, he mentioned he was going to look up some cold cases on microfiche at the library.

  “Oh?” she asked. “Anything special?”

  He hesitated.

  Got ya! “Henry, I know you’re gonna search for any trail related to this latest case. So, just go for it. You have my full permission.”

  Chuckling at his excited expression, she laced her arm through his as the three of them left the gym.

  Outside in the parking lot, Larry and Tony were waiting by her car. Geesh, why does Tony have to look so good?

  After his workout, Larry was still in his usual sweats. But Tony, judging by his outfit, had obviously showered, shaved, and looked as if he was probably about to go to court. He was all dressed up in a dark tailored suit, rich blue shirt, and a dark purple tie. It all said––no shouted––good taste. On top of major hunkdom.

  As the trio approached her car, Larry, who smelled a little ripe––she figured he’d shower at home––signaled her to come closer.

  “Brooksy, that homeless suspect we brought in the other day turns out to have an alibi,” he said. “Not only other homeless people accounted for his whereabouts, but also a local restaurant manager claimed the guy was panhandling outside his restaurant at the probable time of the murder.” He wiped his brow and continued. “By the way, what can I bring for Thanksgiving?” he asked. “Just give me an assignment. The usual three o’clock time? Same people? Anyone new?”

  Henry turned to Tony. “We’d love to have you come this year. It’s Brooke’s family, a couple of my old students, and of course,
Larry.”

  Brooke’s heartbeats double-timed.

  “Much thanks, Henry.” Tony stared at Brooke for a moment, before returning to Henry. “I come from a big, traditional Italian family, so if I don’t show up to eat, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  Her pulse normalized, Brooke was surprised to feel some disappointment. Get a grip. Why would he even want to come?

  “Maybe for dessert, then,” Larry suggested.

  Tony’s long pause that followed brought her heart rate up again.

  Don’t put the guy on the spot, Larry. Then, without warning, her mind slid elsewhere. Fifty yards down the block, five middle school students were cackling and pushing a thin, cowering fellow student. As the boy picked up his speed to escape them, the middle school gang stayed close behind him. Most likely to pounce on him for real.

  Like a shot, Brooke was burning Nike rubber as she barreled after them.

  “Thar she blows,” Larry said and began a fast trot after her, Tony by his side. Henry smiled like a proud papa, and Abby jumped up and down, her arms waving like a cheerleader.

  As they approached the boys, Larry suddenly held Tony back several feet. “Wait. Let her do her thing. She’s creative as all get out, non-sworn and all.”

  Wide-stanced and determined, Brooke put her arm around the frightened target. “Hey, you should tell these guys who your cousin is.”

  The boy looked more than puzzled. “I…I…”

  Her arm remained draped around his shoulders. “He’s too modest, but his cousin is one of the higher ups in the New York City Police Department. I think you should all think twice about bullying him.”

  “Who are you?” one of them sneered.

  “I work for our local Hillside Police Department. But see those two men over there? They are major league detectives, and they work directly with the NYPD. The point is, you boys are gonna be in big trouble when they tell the top brass over there all about you.”

  She started to eyeball each kid. “What’s your name, son?” she asked the Sneerer, his eyes now wide open, his lips trembling.

  The boy gave it to her with a warp speed stutter. Out of her pocket came a tiny pad and pen. She jotted it down. “Next?” she asked.

  On and on she went, until finally one of the bullies said to their target, “Gee, Marshall, you don’t need to tell anyone, okay? We won’t bother you anymore.”

  Brooke turned to the victim. “Marshall, what do you think?”

  Blinking back a couple of tears, he nodded. “I won’t say anything.”

  The boys all patted him on his back and ran away, leaving Marshall alone with Hillside’s finest.

  “Thank you, lady. Whoever you are. Thanks.” He quickly disappeared.

  “Wow. That was something,” Tony said as soon as she joined them.

  Larry hugged her. “Haven’t lost your touch, Brooksy.”

  She drew a long breath. “One success out of one thousand cases like that.”

  Tony stepped back a pace. “You do know underneath, you’re a real softie, Brooke.” No smile, but his eyes definitely registered a different emotion than before. What was it? She couldn’t name it. All she knew it sure got some overall tingling happening to her. Wow.

  * *

  Clueless Cathy was more than pissed. After last night’s lecture by her sister, Wynnie, Cathy was in no mood to wait around for her, especially with their expensive private health coach standing next to her, tapping her fingers against her thigh. After fifteen minutes, the instructor offered to give a solo lesson to Cathy, but she was having none of it.

  “My sister will show up,” she said, “I’m sure of it.”

  But after her fifth phone call, her seventh text, she was no longer annoyed. She was just scared.

  * *

  The alley was always deserted. Dingy, smelly, and rat-infested, no one bothered to walk down it. Except for the rare drunk on a Saturday night, whose intermittent vomiting only added to its filth and stench.

  But it was perfect for one thing––leaving a dead body.

  Propped up against an abandoned building’s basement steps, lay a woman dressed in exercise gear and wearing a long, dangling gold locket.

  And a large cloth sack cinched right around her neck.

  Suddenly, a lone rat hurried over to the body and started to pick at the paper label pinned to the victim’s chest. A label that had little individual letters lightly glued onto it. Then the rodent switched gears and concentrated on the locket instead. Scratch–scratch–scratch the rat went. Scratch–scratch–scratch it repeated, practically wearing off the person’s name etched across the jewelry's surface. But not quite. The name “Wynnie” was still visible.

  Scrambling back over the woman's body, without warning, the vermin’s hind leg caught on the label. Not for long, though. With a fast, hard shake, the rat got its leg loose and scurried away––leaving the block letters on the label, “Naughty, naughty girl,” far behind.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Henry sure loves Thanksgiving.

  Just watching her roomie stuff their twenty-five-pound turkey with a medley of pork sausage, chopped onions, bread cubes, dried cranberries, and herbs––Rachel Ray style––Brooke smiled. What a kick he was, killing himself to make everything come out perfect. He’s even sweating. Now, that’s dedication!

  She could see the sweet potatoes ready for the oven, the cranberry sauce simmering on the stove, the pumpkin and apple pies out on the counter knocking down their refrigerator chill. String bean casserole, of course, looking gorgeous. And Henry’s peeled, boiled potatoes, on their way to becoming Mash Potatoes Supreme. On top of all of that, she knew that in the fridge a crisp salad was in a seal-tight bag, ready to be dressed. Off to the side of the living room, the dining room table with two added leaves had been set with matching tablecloth and napkins. Laid on top of it were Brooke’s good silverware, China plates, and crystal wine glasses she’d inherited from her parents.

  Fancy-Schmancy.

  As for guests, it was to be the usual crowd—her grandmother, Martha Anderson, Haley, Larry, a couple of Henry’s ex-students––happy for the free meal––and the new addition––Abby.

  The minute Brooke and Henry had heard how Abby’s rich, self-centered father and stepmother always went on a cruise for the holidays, leaving Abby to fend for herself, of course, she was invited to Casa Anderson and Wiles––as their guest of honor.

  “Boy, her family makes me so mad, and I don’t even know them,” Henry had told Brooke privately. “But I’m so glad you and Abby are now chummy.”

  Wait. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. “Not so sure about that.”

  He chuckled. “Time will tell.”

  Larry always brought liquor and Henry’s favorite non-alcoholic beer. Her grandmother, Martha, insisted on making special hors d’oeuvres that she and Haley would concoct together. “GG Time,” she once called it, standing for Great-Grandma Time.

  After a shower, some clothes flung on, and two dabs of lipstick, Brooke ambled through their apartment, taking in all the wonderful smells wafting everywhere, as she bent over each prepared dish and deeply inhaled. Yum.

  They could hear thunder outside, and according to her phone’s weather app, a storm was definitely on its way. Brooke didn’t worry, though. She knew everyone would show up, no matter what. Well, barring hurricanes, floods, or gas explosions.

  Smiling, she had to admit, it felt mighty fine to have such a loyal group of people she could count on, particularly after all the years of chaos she had gone through growing up. And Henry’s holiday decorator sense was perfect. In the middle of the dining room table sat an impressive cornucopia, bursting with little pumpkins, squash, corn, and gourds. Around the living room in small glass bowls were tiny chocolate goodies, making self-control impossible, and in the two bathrooms, he’d gone out and bought little paper guest towels with turkeys on them to fan out next to each sink.

  Who knew he was actually Martha Stewart incognito?


  When the doorbell rang, Brooke turned to Henry. “Bet you five it’s Grandma and Haley.”

  “Naw. No way. It’s Larry. Bet’s on.”

  They both approached the door, narrowly missing Junebug, who streaked away, her ears pressed back like they had been ironed.

  It was Larry, carrying a well-stocked carton of wine, whiskey, and Henry’s non-alcoholic beer.

  Henry beamed. “Hand it over, Brooke.”

  As Larry lay his heavy load down on the kitchen counter, he laughed. “You two betting again?”

  Several more doorbell rings and soon their place was filled with noisy chatter, laughter, and embraces galore. As soon as Abby entered, Henry gave her a big Papa Bear hug. Besides a loud introduction to everyone, he brought forth a teakettle, loaded with hot, steeped herbal tea––his special brand recipe.

  “How sweet of you, Henry,” she said. There was a slight pause.

  “But?” Brooke already figured out what was coming next.

  “I was thinking that maybe I’d indulge in some wine tonight, if that’s okay with you,” Abby said.

  Now that’s more like it.

  Nodding, Henry immediately said, “Of course. Not a problem,” and returned the tea. When he came back, he asked Larry, “Would you pour Abby a nice glass of wine?”

  Grandma Martha leaned into Brooke. “Henry sure has taken to her. That’s sweet.”

  Brooke nodded absently as she scoped out the room full of happy people. Particularly her niece, Haley. The girl was beaming. And hanging onto every word Larry uttered as he told joke after joke.

  Brooke’s heart melted. Haley was growing up so nicely, and coming from what she had had to deal with in life, that was saying a lot. First off, losing her father and grandfather––Brooke’s brother and father––was traumatic enough. But then getting the Stepfather From Hell, along with her nasty great grandfather was, as Brooke well knew, some pretty evil icing on the cake.

  Brooke watched her grandmother now, passing out more hors d’oeuvres. She’d often thought if it hadn’t been for Martha Anderson, she and Haley probably wouldn’t have survived.