Tea, Anyone

by S. R. Mallery

  Her pinched eyebrows and shallow breaths said it all.

  Geesh, I thought I had family issues. “And when is this event happening?”

  Abby clapped her hands together. “You mean you’ll come with me?”

  Shrugging, Brooke started to make a snide remark then stopped. Something about Abby’s vulnerability reminded her of being around her own grandfather. And as tough as she seemed to the world, she knew when it came to all her memories of him, she would always feel raw and less than.

  Another thing Abby and I have in common…

  “Yes,” she said, then immediately put her hand up to ward off a huge hug from Abby who had leapt up and run over to her. “Whoa. I get it. You’re grateful. Let’s leave it at that.”

  When Abby handed over the invitation with the address, Brooke felt she should clear up a couple of things. “Look, I gotta tell you. I don’t do great in social gatherings. And by the way, do I have to get all dressed up?”

  Abby chuckled. “I don’t do well in those settings, either. We’ll be perfect together. Seriously, I just need some support. Besides, I’d like them to meet you. And yes, please don’t come in your sweats. Other than that, I’ll leave it up to you.”

  “So, I really have to get new clothes?”

  It was Abby’s turn to shake her head. “You sure don’t make things easy, do you?”

  * *

  After numerous back-and-forth calls between her grandmother, Martha, and Haley, Brooke consented to having them go shopping with her. She’d hoped not to, but after a careful inspection of her closet, both of them had thrown up their hands.

  Martha was first up. “You’re a twenty-six-year-old woman, Brooke. You need at least a couple of nice dresses for goodness sake.”

  Haley came next. “Yeah, Aunt Brooke, clothes that look like you got them at the swap meet or thrift store does not qualify as elegant.”

  “La-di-dah,” Brooke muttered.

  Still, she let them take her to the nearest shopping mall. It was a ways away, but since she hadn’t started any research yet, and Henry was already on the case, she figured a couple of hours off doing girlie stuff wasn’t the end of the world.

  A couple of hours? Not even close.

  Six hours later, they were entering the seventh clothing store.

  “Honestly, Brooke, dear,” Martha said, a little breathy, “you had at least three or four dresses that made you look wonderful. What is your problem?”

  “I don’t know,” Brooke answered slowly. “They were kind of tight, don’t you think?”

  Haley snorted. “You mean they actually showed off your great figure, don’t you?”

  “Yes, who knew?” Her grandmother sighed. “Dear, you could be a real beauty if you tried.”

  “I totally agree.” Haley nodded her head. “A real knock out, Auntie.”

  Brooke didn’t respond. How could she possibly explain how much her grandfather was still stuck in her head? She jolted back to the present, just in time to hear Haley spouting out more of her fashion expertise.

  “That’s it, Grandma. We’re going back to buy that killer sexy black cocktail dress, the floral forties-style one, and the blue chiffon. Obviously, Auntie can’t decide, so we’ll do it for her.”

  Martha grinned. “Perfect.”

  What? Suddenly, both her arms were being grabbed and the trio marched––yes, marched––back to the different clothing stores.

  * *

  On Saturday evening, when Abby came over in a taxi to collect Brooke, she grinned. “Good. This vintage floral is perfect. Very classy. And without your glasses. So nice to get to see your pretty eyes.”

  Unused to contact lenses and compliments, Brooke gulped then blinked several times, climbed into the cab’s backseat with Abby, and they took off.

  As they approached Abby’s family home, Brooke figured one could easily land a jet airplane in the Bennett’s driveway and front yard. Staring up at the mansion laid out before them, she gave a low whistle. “Hello. I knew you came from some money, but this?”

  The sigh coming out of Abby sounded forlorn enough to warrant an unexpected, sympathetic pat on one of her hands by Brooke.

  I guess we all have our sore points.

  The anniversary celebration turned out to include at least a hundred and fifty guests.

  “Not like your great intimate Thanksgiving,” Abby said between clenched teeth.

  Trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres circulated every two minutes––Brooke actually timed it at one point––and in the middle of a huge, long table overflowing with even more chic tidbits of food, a fountain had been placed, cascading recycled champagne.

  Oh, come on, really?

  “Abigail. Glad you could make it,” came a voice with such a sharp, bitter tone, Brooke instantly figured out who was speaking.

  Dolores Bennett. The Evil Stepmother. In person. Brooke watched Abby’s dark-haired, ultra-made-up nemesis lean over to give just a hint of a kiss on her stepdaughter’s cheek. Not even a graze. Definitely no hug. Not even close.

  Brooke felt herself bristle, ramping up for an attack on the woman. But as soon as she saw Abby’s paralysis, she felt protective more than anything else. She figured she’d take a different road. Instead of slapping the woman silly, she extended her hand out to the second Mrs. Bennett.

  “Hello. My name is Brooke Anderson. Abby and I are neighbors.”

  “How do you do? It’s always nice to meet Abigail’s friends.” Her effort to sound highbrow almost made Brooke laugh.

  Give me a break.

  Dolores stared at Brooke’s empty hors d’oeuvres plate and champagne glass.

  “I see you’ve had plenty to eat and drink,” she said.

  This time Brooke couldn’t help herself. She burst out laughing.

  It must have been the impetus Abby needed. She drew herself up and shot back, “Yes, Dolores, we’re just fine. I do wonder where you got your hors d’oeuvres this time, though. Not quite up to speed, Brooke and I both agreed.” She let that one sink in. “Where’s Dad?”

  The look of shock then anger on Mrs. Bennett’s face was priceless.

  Well done, Able Abby!

  Dolores pulled back her shoulders and thrust out her chin. “He’s over there, talking to his colleagues. You know him. He’ll come over to you when he feels it’s important. Business before pleasure.”

  Ouch.

  Her words obviously hit the mark. Abby visibly cringed. “Just tell him I’m here.”

  Nodding, Dolores gave Brooke a complete onceover. “Nice to meet you, Brooke.” And she was off, floating across the room toward her husband’s business cluster.

  “Isn’t she grand?” Abby said dully.

  Just then a young man about their age came over. Dressed to kill in a tux, he looked like he’d just stepped off the set of Downton Abbey.

  “Hi there, cousin. It’s about time you came to one of these things.” He ogled Brooke up and down slowly. “And who do we have here?” He took her hand with a slow, smug smile. And cold eyes.

  Creepo.

  “John, why don’t you play with your own friends?” Abby sniped.

  Laughing, he sauntered off, just as Mr. Bennett, Abby’s father, approached. He was a hugger. He opened his arms, and Abby instantly became his little girl as soon as she fell into them. Unfortunately, he then attempted to do that with Brooke. That didn’t go too well. She had to control herself from landing a punch. When she practically shoved him back, he snickered.

  “I see your friend has some spirit.” He straightened his bowtie. “So, Abigail, what are you up to these days? Still enjoying your little mystical life? All I can say is thank goodness your mother left you some money.”

  Immediately, Brooke could see Abby tense. “Yes, I enjoy meditation and yoga, father. You know that. I also do paid readings for people, so I don’t just sit around watching TV all day.”

  “Actually, I was referring to your other adventure. The one your mother and her uncle go
t you into.”

  “Yes, Mama enjoyed the Tarot cards. It not only made her happy, she always loved how you indulged her,” she said defensively.

  An instant tear formed in one of his eyes. So, the man still has feelings. Vulnerability might make him more receptive. Brooke took a chance.

  “Actually Mr. Bennett, Abby has been helping the police department quite a lot with her other worldly adventures.”

  He looked surprised. “Police? What in the world do you mean?”

  Straightening up as tall as possible, Brooke continued. “I’m a researcher there, and Abby has become an important part of a recent case we’ve been pursuing. You must be really proud of her.”

  “Interesting,” he said and turned to his daughter. “Are you still in that––what do you call it? That support group?”

  What is wrong with these people?

  “Yes, Father, I still go to it. I believe it never hurts to be open and honest.”

  His, “To each his own,” really got under Brooke’s skin.

  “You know, I’ve never been into that kind of thing myself, Mr. Bennett,” she said, “but I, too, started going to this group, and I’ve learned a great deal about myself. Perhaps that could work for you? As a matter of fact, I recently read an article from the Wall Street Journal about how various business tycoons have improved their companies by entering some sort of group therapy themselves, be it cognitive or inspirational.”

  That got his attention.

  “Oh, really?” he said, “The Wall Street Journal recommends it? Perhaps I’ll look into it then.” When his eyes shifted over toward Abby, he gave her a nod. “Well, Abigail, see you at dinner, and Brooke, it’s been a pleasure.”

  After he disappeared, Abby grabbed Brooke’s arm. “Whether you meant that little white lie or not, thank you from the bottom of my heart, Brooke. So glad you came.”

  Brooke smiled. She was glad she came, too. Until they sat down to dinner. Having to eat alongside cousins, friends, and business acquaintances rattling on about their strong political opinions and shopping-spree analyses while blissfully ignoring every single painstaking effort to accommodate them by the Bennetts’ servants, was more than enough. She couldn’t wait to get back to her simple, safe little world.

  Later, after Abby gave her a quick hug goodnight, Brooke had to ask. “You okay?” When Abby stayed mute, she continued. “All I can say from my vast experience with a nasty family member, just remember one thing. Nobody, I mean nobody can take away who you really are.”

  “That’s sweet of you, Brooke. Really. But that’s not why I’m upset.” She paused. “Ever since yesterday, I’ve been picking up something.”

  Oh boy. Is she gonna get all psychic on me now?

  “I don’t know who, but I can feel in my gut there’s another murder either happening right now, or already happened––with someone else we both know.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Pride & Joy gym’s garden shed was medium-sized and, in keeping with the quaint yet dingy theme, it was dim and moldy. A search warrant had gotten Larry and Tony inside, and after the club’s manager left them, muttering something bad about Collin, the detectives went to work.

  One wall carried an overcrowded shelf full of cans containing nails, screws, brackets, and hinges. Another wall was slathered with hammers, drills, and other assorted hand tools. A long workstation with drawers and a built-in vise sat in the middle of the floor, and in one corner stood an array of brooms, shovels, and rakes. Outside, a lawnmower was covered with a heavy tarp.

  At least fifteen minutes ticked by before the manager came back. “See anything?” he asked.

  “Nothing so far,” Tony said and began to search the table’s drawers.

  “Well, Collin’s an odd one, that’s for sure. He––” The manager stopped.

  Both detectives eyed him as he walked over to the broom corner. Leaning toward the garden equipment, he seemed to be looking for something.

  “It’s not here,” he said.

  “What?” Larry came over to him, with Tony close behind.

  “There’s a wide shovel with a medium-sized handle Collin often uses. It’s not here.”

  The detectives exchanged looks.

  Larry raised one eyebrow. “Where is Collin, by the way?”

  The manager huffed. “Not here today. He called in sick. If you ask me, there’s something off about that guy.”

  “That’s what Brooksy’s always said about Collin,” Larry said later as he and Tony walked by the huge window in the Fit & Fun studio.

  Glancing in, Tony noticed Brooke doing one of her cool down stretches and sighed. Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t see Larry smiling off to one side.

  “In five minutes, their class will be over. Let’s wait for Brooke and Henry in the parking lot so we can find out if Abby actually has come up with anything of value, okay?”

  “You sure? It’s just a waste of time, if you ask me,” Tony said.

  Larry’s knowing smirk returned with a vengeance. “Yeah, Abby’s a dingbat in some ways, but if Brooke believes in her, I trust my ole pal’s instincts because she’s smart as all get out.”

  “She sure is.” As soon as he heard Larry chuckle, Tony flipped around. “What’s so funny?”

  A double eyebrow lift-and-drop came from Larry as he faced his partner. “I just think you got it bad, bro.”

  When Brooke and Henry came out, they saw the guys leaning against her car.

  “What’s up, fellas?” Henry asked.

  “I was about to ask you two the same thing,” Larry said. “Brooke, what’s the latest with Abby?”

  Trying not to look at Tony with his top two buttons undone, revealing a hint of his chest, Brooke concentrated on Larry. “Actually, surprise, surprise, she did give us some real info this time. We have several names of people, which Henry will look up on ancestry sites, and I’ll be heavily researching one of the Boston Tea Party ships, the Eleanor. Seems some pretty weird stuff happened during its voyage over to America. Besides that, Abby claims someone told her about a couple of murders by someone back in London before they sailed here. I’ll look into those, too.”

  Larry’s extra slow headshake was telling.

  Okay, I get it. He’s not ready to drink the Kool-Aid.

  “Hurry is the key word, Brooksy.” Larry snapped his fingers. “I mean we don’t want any more bodies, do we? By the way, you’re ready for the chief’s latest meeting, I hope. A text from him at five this morning to come in sure was a surprise. I’m hoping they got the killer.”

  Brooke flashed on Abby’s last statement. Could there be another murder?

  * *

  The instant they all entered the police department, she smelled trouble. Solemn, tense faces and staff bustling from desk to desk made Brooke fear the worst. Abby’s right. She watched Larry and Tony talking with Chief Bruner for a few minutes before they joined Henry and her. Larry’s face read catastrophe.

  “Two more,” he muttered.

  “What?” she mouthed.

  Then she looked over at the ten-by-ten case wall. A collage of photos of the victims had details listed next to each one. There was a street map of Hillside, with dates printed on each victim’s photo and red yarn stretched and pinned linked any coincidences between victims and their circumstances. There was the first victim, Jane Doe. Next to her were Wynnie and now Cathy, red yarn connecting them, of course. But when she saw the newest victim, Brooke paused, her mouth open in shock. Staring back at her was a shot of Ruth Novak.

  What the––? Cathy? And now Ruth? We just saw Madam Nasty a few days ago.

  “We’ve got to get something, Brooke,” Larry said sternly. “This is so not okay.”

  Nodding, Brooke leaned closer to the wall and studied the detail sheet next to both Clueless Cathy and her old gym instructor. Each one had a head trauma first, then was suffocated by a cinched cloth bag around her neck. Exact same MOs. The only difference was like her sister, Cathy was also found in
an alley. Ruth was found in her apartment’s basement.

  Brooke flashed on the document she had just read from the Sheffield Company just as the chief strode out of his office.

  “Larry, Tony, Betty Ann, in my office. Now.” He stared at Henry. “Who the hell are you?”

  Here we go. “He’s working with me on the case, Chief Bruner,” Brooke said.

  No words came out of her superior. Just a low grumble.

  Inside his office he began his attack––starting with Brooke. “Why I let you convince me to use that whack job neighbor of yours in the first place, I’ll never know. But we now have a fourth victim. That’s four dead bodies, Betty Ann. You better give me some good intel right this second or else––”

  He never got to finish. Out in the main room, Collin was being brought in, wildly flailing his arms and kicking at a chair.

  “You have no right to arrest me,” he shouted. “Who do you think you are? I’m going to sue all of you, just wait and see. I demand to talk to my lawyer. He’s––”

  He caught sight of Brooke and Henry standing just outside the captain’s office door and dropped his jaw. “You two. What are you doing here?”

  While a couple of policemen led him off, doing their best to assure him they would call his lawyer, Chief Bruner shook his head. “Let’s continue.” He motioned Larry and Tony to sit in the two seats opposite him. Nothing was offered for Brooke or Henry.

  Figures.

  “I cannot stress enough how the lack of evidence or clues has to stop right now. Four murders in a span of what, three weeks? With no leads, nothing?” He was bordering on a roar. Then he slowly turned his attention to Brooke.

  Oh, boy. Betty Ann time.

  She decided to throw in the first punch. “Chief, I just want to tell you I’ve found a short client list from the Sheffield Company. You know, the old company that still makes cloth bags like the one used recently by the killer. I think––”

  Chief Bruner’s nostrils flared. “Betty Ann, what’s your neighbor up to these days? Oh, wait. That’s right. She’s some crazy out of this universe clairvoyant. Someone who will certainly help us, right? Wrong!” The second he pounded his desk, everyone twitched.