by Theresa Weir
Her phone chimed and Harper let her know they were outside. All her friends would be there today to lend her moral support. She was grateful for that. She took that moment to call Pawlish. Julia answered.
“This is it, then?”
“Yes. I wanted you to know how much you all mean to me. I’m so thankful that we had the chance to work together.”
“You’re going to beat this.”
“Doesn’t matter if I don’t. I wanted you to know. Tell the others, would you, if…”
“You can tell them yourself. When you beat this.”
Brooke chuckled. “Take care, Julia.”
It was clear from the numbers she’d received from her accountant that her business was in trouble. The publicity with Kristen and her psychic, the murder indictment, and the trial had almost destroyed what she had built. The expansion was at a standstill, and her business as well as her future were uncertain.
Kristen had achieved what she’d set out to do. She had ruined her. It would take years to rebuild the trust and clientele she had lost. But her heart was heavy. Kristen was dead and Brooke couldn’t be happy about that.
The past and present wove together in her mind like vines, twisting, clinging vines. She had started Pawlish mostly to spite her parents. They hadn’t been supportive. They had expected her to fail. When she hadn’t, they said it was beginner’s luck. Now she was failing, but in the end she couldn’t regret any of her actions. She’d do everything possible to find a way to salvage Pawlish, and if she couldn’t, she would help her loyal employees find new positions.
For a moment the pressure, the fear, the looming dread, all pressed in on her. She fought the urge to sink down the wall and sob. The tears choked her.
“Oh, God,” she breathed softly as despair cracked through her armor and the tears squeezed past the tightly closed barriers of her eyelids.
Her hands balled into fists as she straightened her spine, a soft sob escaping for only a moment, releasing a small measure of the inner tension. She swallowed back the tears that lingered. She pushed away from the wall and put on her coat, buttoning the buttons. Wrapping a soft white scarf around her neck, she turned towards the door, swiping away the telltale tears with a flick of her wrist.
In the wake of the tiny breakdown flowed calm. Her tight muscles relaxed as it shimmered through her. Her heartbeat slowed to a steady, even beat.
Squatting down, she ran her hands over Roscoe’s face. His velvet muzzle. He leaned into her hands and offered her a comforting sound deep in his chest. She buried her face in his fur. “I love you, boy. I’ll be back later and I’ll give you one of my new experiments: doggie treat pizza.”
He licked her face and she rubbed his ears. Finally, she grabbed up her navy leather gloves and exited her apartment.
Wading through the reporters was as unpleasant as usual. She gave them her now trademark “no comment.”
When Harper’s chauffeur exited the car, the reporters scattered like brightly colored leaves.
Brooke laughed, the sound bubbling out of her.
At the courthouse, she had to run the gauntlet of reporters on the steps. But as she neared the top, her friends buffering her against the many questions and noise, she saw Drew.
Dressed as impeccably as ever, he was like a beacon. She flowed towards him through a sea of people. All the noise ceased, the fear that had been fluttering in her stomach like butterflies subsided, and the cold air couldn’t penetrate the warmth of her skin.
He smiled at her, and when she reached him, he tucked her arm through his.
There was considerable activity in the hall. Court was in session, but in addition to the usual group of attorneys and clerks and stenographers, there were more reporters searching like rats for any tasty morsel on the latest Hampton murder. Her stomach tightened, and the hair on the back of her neck rose as eyes turned her way—eyes that brightened with savage anticipation at the sight of her walking arm in arm with one of the attorneys previously employed by the husband of the murder victim. Just as before, they honed in, scrambling to switch on tape recorders, jostling each other for the best vantage point. They came forward in a rush, sound bursting out of them like a too-loud radio caught between stations.
“Ms. Palmer!”
“Mr. Hudson!”
“—is there any connection—?”
“—think the trial will go now—?”
Drew protected her from the force of the media storm, and she leaned into him.
Adam strode down the hall and grabbed her free arm. “The DA wants to talk to you.”
“What, now? We’re on the last day.”
“That’s all I know right now.” He turned to her friends who were bringing up the rear and said, “Why don’t you all head to the gallery? We’ll be there shortly.”
Drew growled. “I’m staying.” He tightened his arm in hers, and Brooke nodded at Adam when he gave her a questioning look.
Adam escorted her further down the hall, calm as the sunny day outside. “No comment. We have no comment to make at this time. Ms. Palmer has no comment.”
He guided her and her entourage to the DA’s outer office, and while he dealt the press a final, definitive “no comment” at the door, she made a beeline past the inquisitive gaze of the DA’s secretary and went into the quiet of his inner sanctum.
The details of the office penetrated only peripherally—magenta walls, with touches of purple, red accents, heavy brass lamps, dark red leather chairs, the smell of furniture polish and woodsy tobacco, a place for everything and everything in its place. The shades were drawn, giving the room the feeling of twilight. The mood of the room may have soothed her, but she was too caught up in the churning memories and emotions of the moment.
They entered a small conference room and settled around the table. Soon John Hargrove, the DA for Suffolk County, came in with the ADA prosecuting the case. He wore a dark grey suit and red tie, his salt and pepper hair cut close to his head and combed neatly away from his face. The ADA, Ellen Sanborn was an attractive blonde woman wearing a navy pinstripe suit.
“Ms. Palmer,” he said, nodding. “We’d like to offer you a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
“We are willing to drop the first degree murder charge down to manslaughter with fifteen years and a chance at parole in five.”
“Fifteen years?” Brooke’s stomach knotted up like a pretzel. “For a crime I didn’t commit?”
“That is what we are offering at this time. We’ll give you time to consult—”
“I don’t need time to consult with my attorney!”
“Brooke,” Adam said.
Brooke stood. “I am innocent. I didn’t kill Kristen. I don’t care if you don’t believe me or whether anyone else believes me. I know it’s true. I won’t admit guilt to a crime I didn’t commit. I’m on the verge of losing my freedom, my business, and being torn from the people I love.”
“Very well,” he said, glancing at Ellen. “Proceed.”
They faced the frenzied reporter chaos once again, Brooke shaking inside. She might have just sealed her fate. With that offer she would have maybe gotten out in five years. But her reputation would be tarnished, and she’d forever be a murderer who confessed.
In the gallery there was standing room only. Drew settled in right behind the defendant’s table next to her three friends, and Callie’s father and mother, Rachel, her receptionist, the guys from Hot Diggity Dogs, and the manager of the homeless shelter. He had been a character witness for her. She was so touched so many of her friends were there to support her.
She dropped into the chair, not sure that her legs could hold her up anymore.
Drew was a strong, bolstering presence behind her. She could face anything knowing he was there.
The jurors filed in and seated themselves in a flurry. The Honorable Michael Strand came out, banged his gavel, stating in a firm voice. “This court is now in session.”
She let out a shuddering breath and trie
d to let go of the tension in her shoulders.
Adam stood. It was time to complete the defense. “I call Brooke Palmer to the stand.”
She stood as a deep, sure calm settled over her. This was her moment to state to the world her innocence. She would answer all questions to the best of her ability, and that would be it. The trial would end.
Once she had taken the oath and was seated on the stand, Adam approached. They had talked about how to handle this question and her subsequent answer. He told her to stay calm and answer directly, but when he said, “Brooke Palmer, did you kill Kristen Wright-Davis?” she froze for a moment.
Then she pressed on, shooting blind, fighting on instinct and engaging her heart. She’d never been good at keeping her heart out of a fight, anyway. It tumbled into the fray now, tender and brimming with new emotion.
She pressed her lips together hard to keep them from trembling. Then spoke. “No. I did not kill her. I went to her house that day to reason with her. Many of you believe that it was about cold-hearted cash flow, about business. It wasn’t.” Emotion welled when she saw Rachel’s sympathetic look. She swallowed down a knot of tears and struggled to snatch a breath that didn’t rattle and catch in her throat. “It was about someone. Someone in my employ who has been nothing but loyal, kind, giving, and skillful. The only person who was willing to take on Kristen’s toy poodle, Mimi, a dog who was manners-challenged.”
Several of the jurors chuckled.
She met Drew’s eyes and his steady look grounded her. She tugged her composure tight around her. Damned if she’d cry. “But I have never turned a customer away. I reasoned with Kristen when I visited her the day she died. We came to an agreement, and I left. What happened to her, I have no clue, but I did not push her down those stairs.”
With all the dignity she could muster, she rose and left the stand.
* * *
Harper had offered her home in the Hamptons for Brooke and her friends to wait for the final verdict.
They now took refreshment in the living room. Brooke felt almost frozen inside. Rachel approached her and hugged her hard.
“I’m so sorry this has happened. You should have just fired me.”
“We both know that wasn’t going to happen.”
Rachel nodded. Adam came over and slipped his arm around Rachael. When he looked at her, she returned the glance with affection.
Brooke smiled. “Well, something good came out of this. Congratulations.” Adam smiled and they walked off hand in hand.
A warm hand settled over hers and she looked up into Drew’s kind green eyes. She thawed, her heart beating against the wall of her chest with little fluttering thumps. It was true what she had said to Poe. She loved him, but the words were stuck in her throat. She couldn’t say them; her future wasn’t her own.
“Come with me,” he said softly. She slipped her hand in his and followed him into the study. Harper was there, and when he closed the door, she saw that Callie and Poe were seated on the tufted leather sofa.
“What is this?”
Harper looked every inch the very rich woman she was sitting behind that desk. She reclined back into the high-backed leather chair. “I spoke to Drew. He doesn’t think you’ll do it, but I’m going to offer anyway.”
“Offer what?” She glanced at Drew, then back at Harper. “You’ve already done so much.”
“I have a vast fortune, and I’ve never been so happy to have that as I do right this moment,” her voice clogged with tears.
Brooke had never seen Harper cry. Floored, she asked, “What are you saying?”
“I can get you out of the country. Right now.” The sound of a helicopter touching down outside made her jerk her eyes to the window. This was certainly surreal.
For a moment, Brooke couldn’t speak as she looked at Harper. She stared into her deep blue eyes and her throat tightened, her eyes filled. Harper came around the desk.
She ran across the room and wrapped her arms around Harper. The tears she had so ruthlessly squashed in the courtroom flooded her eyes, hot and salty. “I don’t even know what to say. What about my business? What about my Roscoe? Drew?”
“You would have to leave Roscoe. There isn’t enough time, and he’s just too old to travel. I’ll take over your business. At least you’ll have a means of support. Drew would have to make up his own mind.”
“She’s not going anywhere without me.” The confidence in his eyes made her feel like the most cherished woman in the world.
Poe and Callie, tears streaming down their faces, joined them. Their arms encompassing her, too.
“Say yes. I can’t bear to think of you locked up. It would kill me…us by degrees every day. You’re such a gentle, beautiful person whom I love like a sister. I have never been so grateful to Blue for just being a dog, so that I ended up in the dog park that day,” Harper said.
For a millisecond Brooke was tempted. “I love you, too. All of you, but my answer is no. I can’t leave here, even if it means my freedom. Someone put up a million-dollar bond with the confidence that I wouldn’t flee. I can’t, not even to save myself.”
She trembled a little, wanted to be strong enough to stand on her own. But she had the presence of mind to finally admit to herself that this felt good. Having people at her side didn’t just have to mean physical support. It meant emotional support, too. And her world wouldn’t end if she admitted she needed a little of that now.
“I put up the bail,” Drew said.
“Drew? You? How sweet of you to do that. I’m overwhelmed. This is a too much. This…,” she swallowed hard, “…is amazing. Almost too amazing. I’m—I’m not used to it and I appreciate it, so forgive me if I bungle it.
She turned a little more so she could look more fully at Drew. He crossed the room. He kissed her.
And that felt pretty damn good, too. How he had gone from complete stranger to frenemy, to lover, to friend in such a short time, she had no idea. But he was here. At least for now.
“Damn Kristen Wright-Davis and her damn freaking poodle,” Poe said.
“That day she was so snooty and highfalutin’. She wanted an invitation to the wedding, Callie, and one to your teas, Harper. I told her I’d do my best, but that I couldn’t control either of you,” Brooke said. “I’m still very sorry that she’s dead.”
“I would have given permission if it had meant she would drop the lawsuit.”
“Me, too,” Callie said.
Brooke nodded, the warmth and kindness of her dearly loved friends bolstering her spirits.
“What was she doing when you got there? Sitting on her throne and dispensing wisdom to her servants?”
“No, she was filming her chandelier for DTV Town and Country.”
“Filming?” Drew said. “There was no mention of a camera in the police report.”
“It was a digital camera. Pink, I think.”
“Maybe there’s something on there that can clear you?”
“Like what?”
“Like what happened after you left.”
“It’s worth a try.”
“Kristen’s house isn’t far from here.”
Drew grabbed her hand as Harper walked alongside them. She called her chauffeur. “Take the car.”
Inside the limo, Brooke didn’t dare hope, but with Drew clasping her hand and the determined look on his face, there was no stopping now.
Pulling up that driveway made Brooke’s stomach twist into corkscrews that tightened into knots.
At the door, they knocked. Marta answered, and her eyes widened as she backed up.
She called, “Mr. Wright-Davis!”
He appeared at the top of the stairs, holding…Mimi. “What is it, Marta…what are you doing here?”
“We need to talk to you Roger, it’s important.” Drew pulled Brooke into the house with him.
“What? About what?”
“The camera.”
“Camera? What camera?”
Drew bent down and b
egan looking under the furniture in the foyer and the adjacent living room.
“This is an outrage! Marta, call the police.”
The maid ran out of the foyer.
Roger set the dog down and she trotted down the stairs. She looked like a different dog. Less aggressive, more approachable. She stood in front of Brooke for a moment then hurried off. Dogs were notorious for picking things up and burying them. Could Mimi…? On instinct, Brooke followed the dog through the house as sirens sounded in the distance.
Drew was right beside her. “Brooke what are you doing? We’ve got to find the camera. We’re running out of time.”
The dog stopped and then sidled through a half open door. Brooke followed her. Inside was a very pink office. No doubt. It used to belong to Kristen. In the corner of the room was Mimi’s fluffy pink bed.
Brooke walked over to it and dropped down to her knees. Nestled in the pink fluff was Kristen’s camera.
Brooke picked it up and pushed the power button to turn it on. The camera made a whishing noise and the lens opened. With trembling fingers, she accessed the video. Kristen was narrating the history of the house and the chandelier. Then it switched to the maid at the door, showing Brooke pushing her way in and then her whole conversation with Kristen. She must not have realized that she was still recording.
Finally, they came to their deal, and the feed showed her leaving and closing the door behind her. She heard Kristen say. “You know Mimi, she’s pretty tough. I kinda like her.”
Then the camera was back on the chandelier as Kristen moved back. Then the feed went blurry as Kristen obviously tripped. “Miiiiiimiiiiii,” she screamed and for a brief moment the poodle flashed in the display and was gone. There was a terrible snapping sound at the same time the camera hit the ground. A few minutes passed as Mimi barked off camera, then an extreme close up of her muzzle appeared and disappeared for a few moments. There were sniffing noises and whining, then sharp white teeth grasped the camera and it went dark.
The police rushed in as Brooke and Drew stared at the dark display. “Oh my God!” Brooke said, looking at the poodle sitting so primly next to her dog bed watching them. “Mimi killed her.”
* * *
