Little Broken Things

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  I entered the house, stopping a moment in the living room before heading upstairs and out on the balcony. Photos, trophies, framed poems, and a few other items were spread across the couch. I bent over, assessing each item on display.

  Aunt Laura came downstairs and stood next to me. “We’re setting up a table for the funeral.”

  “When is it?”

  “Tomorrow night. I had some of Olivia’s … well, innocent poems framed, and I’ve tried to gather together all the things she seemed to love most.”

  I pointed at a framed photo of Casper and Olivia. “Is this their engagement photo?”

  “One of them. Olivia kept a folder full of everything related to the wedding. This photo was pinned on the left side of the folder along with some of the other things she’d decided on, like her dress and the cake. We assume it’s the photo she planned on using in the invitations.”

  It was a great photo of the two of them. They looked happy and in love, unaware of what life had in store for their immediate future.

  I glanced outside. “I see Chelsea still hasn’t given Barb any breathing room yet.”

  Aunt Laura rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what it will take to get rid of that woman, but once the funeral is over, my ability to hold my tongue with her will be over too.”

  “How is Barb doing? Did you get the chance to talk to her about the pills?”

  “I did. She admitted to taking more than she should have this week. They’re in my possession now.”

  “She gave them to you?”

  “In a manner of speaking. I found them, and you know what they say—finders, keepers.”

  “Does she know you have them?”

  “She does now.” Aunt Laura patted me on the hand. “Not to worry. We cut a deal.”

  “What kind of deal?” I asked.

  She winked at me.

  “Aunt Laura …” I said, “What deal did you make with her?”

  “Let’s just say we’re taking more of a holistic approach to getting her through this.”

  A “holistic approach” was Aunt Laura’s way of saying she’d slipped Barb some of her edibles, or perhaps they were even doing them together.

  I didn’t doubt it.

  Aunt Laura saw the concerned look on my face and said, “I’m monitoring it. Don’t worry. And hey, if I’m being honest, you look like you could do with a holistic approach yourself. I made some brownies last night. Want one for later when you cut off work?”

  “I’m … no. Thank you. I’m fine.”

  She crossed her arms and eyed me in a way that said she didn’t believe me. “I’m sure you are. The question is, will you still be fine after dinner at your mother’s house tonight?”

  It was the perfect thing to say to ease the worries on my mind. We shared a quick laugh, and then a college-aged guy entered the room. He was slender, dressed like a skateboarder, and hunched over when he walked.

  “That’s David, Olivia’s brother,” Aunt Laura said.

  He greeted us with a nod and kept on walking.

  “Man of few words, he is,” Aunt Laura said.

  “I haven’t had the chance to meet him or talk to him yet.”

  “I doubt you’ll get much out of him. He’s a bit on the shy side.”

  Maybe he was, but I’d still pull him aside for a moment when I got the chance.

  Barb called us from upstairs, asking us to join them, which we did.

  “Afternoon, Detective,” Stuart said. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “A glass of water would be nice.”

  “Coming right up.”

  He pushed his chair back, and Chelsea smacked him on the shoulder. “Stay where you are. I’ll get it.”

  She disappeared inside the house, and Barb turned toward me. She looked pale and thin, like she hadn’t been eating. “Are you any closer to finding out what happened to my daughter?”

  “I’ve interviewed some of Olivia’s friends over the last two days. I also spoke with Shawn Murphy today. What are your thoughts on him?”

  “Chad used to say he had foot-in-mouth disease, because he had a bad habit of saying things he shouldn’t. Talk first. Think later.”

  It described him well.

  It also described me.

  “Did you like Shawn?” I asked.

  “Well enough. He had his bad qualities, but he had his good ones too.”

  “What was his relationship with Olivia like?”

  “They broke up a few times, often because he was headstrong and brash and she wasn’t, but Olivia always said when she was with him, he made her feel safe.”

  Safe from what … or whom?

  “Shawn’s personality is a lot different than Olivia’s, from what I know about her,” I said. “A lot different.”

  “Chad and I thought the same thing. He wasn’t the usual type of guy she dated. They were always more like Casper, soft-spoken and quiet, a bit on the reserved side and polite.”

  I crossed one leg over the other and steered the conversation in a new direction. “Do you own a cabin by chance, Barb?”

  Barb nodded. “We do. When Chad’s father passed away several years ago, he left his cabin to us. It’s on eight acres of land in Templeton. Why do you ask?”

  I ignored the question and continued.

  “Do you have any photos of it?” I asked.

  Barb shrugged. “I’m sure I do somewhere. I can look around if you like?”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  “I’ll help you,” Aunt Laura said.

  The two of them headed inside the house, and Chelsea returned with my water. She watched Barb and Aunt Laura head downstairs and narrowed her eyes. “Where are those two going?”

  “They’re looking for photos of the cabin,” Stuart said.

  “Why?” Chelsea asked.

  Stuart thumbed in my direction. “I dunno. Ask her.”

  Before she had the opportunity, I responded with a question of my own. “Do Barb and Chad use the cabin often?”

  Chelsea sat the glass of water in front of me and crossed her arms. “All the time. We have most family holidays up there. It’s such a peaceful place.”

  “Was Olivia ever at the cabin without her parents, with some friends from school, or …?”

  “Not until after she graduated, and then Barb allowed her to head up there with a couple of friends on one or two occasions.”

  “Which occasions would those be?” I asked.

  “Let’s see now … I believe Olivia spent a weekend there with some of her buddies on her eighteenth birthday. David’s in the kitchen. He’d know.” Chelsea turned around and shouted, “David, hellooooo? Would you come out here a minute please?”

  David poked his head around the corner, rolling his eyes at his aunt who’d used her hand to summon him closer. He walked over and said, “Yeah? What is it?”

  “Have you ever been to the cabin alone, without your parents?” Chelsea asked.

  “A bunch of times. Why?”

  “What about Olivia?”

  “I don’t know. Ask Mom.”

  “Didn’t Olivia go to the cabin with some of her school buddies to celebrate her eighteenth birthday?”

  He sighed. “Oh, yeah. Mom made me go with them so they wouldn’t be alone.”

  Chelsea flashed him a suspicious look. “I seem to recall you were thrilled to tag along. You had a crush on Olivia’s friend, Abby, back then. Am I right?”

  “Abigail Nichols?” I asked.

  “It wasn’t a crush,” David said. “We just hang out from time to time.”

  “Hang out, huh?” Chelsea said. “I believe the term is friends with benefits or maybe a friend with whom you’d like to have benefits, hmm?”

  Horrified, David’s face turned beet red. He gritted his teeth and glared at Chelsea, saying, “Why do you go out of your way to embarrass every person in this family? I’m sick of it, and I’m sick of you.”

  Chapter 29

  David stormed d
own the hallway, slamming the bedroom door behind him. A confused Chelsea shrugged like she didn’t know what to make of his verbal explosion or the role she’d played in it.

  “What an ungrateful … I have been waiting on that boy since the moment he arrived back home,” Chelsea said. “How dare he treat me like—”

  “His sister just died, Chelsea,” Stuart said. “Cut him some slack.”

  She faced Stuart. “And my niece just died. I’m grieving too, you know. We all are.”

  I stood. “I think I’ll go see if I can talk to him.”

  Chelsea swished a hand through the air. “Why bother? Isn’t it obvious? He doesn’t want to talk to you or anyone else. He wants to be alone.”

  I thought about Aunt Laura’s comment about keeping her thoughts to herself until the funeral was over. She may have had impulse control. Me? Not so much.

  “Chelsea, I believe David has a point,” I said. “Everyone in this house has been tiptoeing around you for days now. Your sister asked you for some space. Instead of giving it to her, you proceeded to suffocate her and everyone else with your opinionated, overbearing attitude. If you want to help your sister, get in your car, go home, and give her a minute to breathe so she can process her daughter’s death.”

  Eyes wide, Chelsea pressed a hand to her chest and gasped.

  I could see the rebuttal coming, a rebuttal I wasn’t sticking around to hear. “Whatever you’re about to say, don’t. Just don’t.”

  I pivoted and entered the house, noticing David’s door was ajar just enough for him to catch every word I’d just said. Good. Maybe I’d get lucky, and he’d be up for a chat after all.

  I stopped in front of his door and tapped on it. “Hey, David, I was hoping I could talk to you for a minute. It won’t take long.”

  He cracked the door open a bit more and said, “Fine, but not here.”

  “It’s a nice day outside. Want to go for a walk?”

  “Sure, I guess so.”

  I told Aunt Laura about our plans, and we headed outside. I waited until we were away from prying ears, and then I said, “How are you holding up?”

  “I don’t know. Everything’s weird right now. What happened to Olivia … it doesn’t seem real.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  He turned toward me. “You do?”

  “I lost my daughter a while back. When she died, it didn’t seem real to me either at first.”

  “What happened to her?”

  I contemplated whether I should answer the question or not. “She drowned in a pool. It was an accident.”

  He clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes closed like he regretted the question. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, me too. I miss her.”

  “Do you think you’ll catch him—the guy who killed my sister?”

  “I do, and I will. These things take time. I’m doing my best to speed things along so you and your family get the closure you need.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I wanted to ask you about the weekend you and Olivia spent up at the cabin.”

  He shrugged. “What do you want to know?”

  “Did anything happen that weekend?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Did any of you invite someone else, someone who wasn’t supposed to be there?”

  “It was just the four of us. Olivia, Abigail, Roxie, and me. We played games, watched a bunch of movies, ate junk food—nothing too exciting.”

  “Was your sister dating anyone at the time—someone she may have snuck in?”

  “I don’t think so. I would have known about it if she had.”

  I’d struck out so far.

  Even so, I kept going.

  “Aside from Olivia’s eighteenth birthday weekend, was there ever a time at the cabin where something unusual happened or Olivia seemed upset?”

  He shook his head.

  Maybe I was wasting my time, hoping for an easy answer when there wasn’t one. We walked a little farther and then rounded the cul-de-sac at the end of the street and turned back toward the house. Right before we reached the driveway, he stopped and faced me. Perhaps something I said had jogged his memory.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I remember something about the cabin. It’s been so long ago now, I’d almost forgotten. It was Thanksgiving. A bunch of us were fishing.”

  “How many people were at the cabin that weekend?”

  “Including kids? At least thirty. Maybe more. Olivia had decided not to go fishing with us. It surprised me because fishing in the pond was something we always did together.”

  “Did she say why she didn’t want to go?”

  “She didn’t. We took off without her, and when we got back, my mom was upset. Olivia was supposed to help her with dinner, and she couldn’t find her anywhere. She asked me to figure out where she was at. I checked the house. She wasn’t there, so I went outside. There are loads of trees on the property surrounding the cabin. I started searching through them. Took a while, but I found Olivia sitting under a tree. She was crying and carving something into the tree with a pocketknife.”

  “Did you see what she carved?”

  “A heart, I think.”

  “Why was she crying?” I asked.

  “No idea. She wouldn’t tell me. She didn’t say a word to me all the way back to the house. The next day, I called Abigail. I asked her if she had any idea why Olivia was upset.”

  “What did Abigail tell you?”

  “Abigail said Olivia had been acting strange for months. Then she said something I didn’t expect. She thought Olivia may have been hit on by one of their high school teachers.”

  “When was this—how long ago?” I asked.

  “About three years ago.”

  Three years earlier, Olivia would have been sixteen years old.

  “Did Abigail give you the name of the teacher?” I asked.

  “Yeah, Scott Bartlett. Thing is—Olivia never told Abigail he’d hit on her. She just assumed it.”

  Bartlett?

  “Mr. Bartlett wouldn’t happen to be related to Mrs. Bartlett, the creative writing teacher, would he?”

  “Yeah, they’re married.”

  “Why did Abigail think Mr. Bartlett was hitting on Olivia?”

  “She said there was a rumor going around about one of the teachers getting handsy with some of the students. Olivia was in Bartlett’s class that semester. Most of her other teachers were women, except for Mr. Wiggins, and he’s like a hundred years old.”

  It still didn’t explain or prove Abigail’s theory.

  “Has Mr. Bartlett ever been accused of inappropriate behavior by a student before?” I asked.

  “I don’t think so. Like I said, there were rumors, but that’s it. I was going to confront the guy, see if there was any truth to it. Before I did, I told Olivia what I knew and planned to do. She flipped out. She begged me not to do anything and swore Mr. Bartlett never touched her.”

  “Did you believe her?”

  “Back then I did, yeah. She had me convinced. Now, I’m not so sure. What if something did happen with him back then? What if I had the chance to stop it and I didn’t? What if Bartlett became obsessed with her, and what if he, you know …”

  David’s face was a toxic combination of guilt and blame. Guilt over the opportunity he’d had to confront Mr. Bartlett years before. An opportunity missed. He seemed to believe changing the past could have changed the present somehow. It was a rabbit hole I didn’t want him going down.

  I placed a hand on his arm. “Before you jump to conclusions, let me see what I can find out first. I’m still unclear about why Abigail called out Mr. Bartlett when Olivia said nothing happened with him. Trust me, if I find out there’s been any misconduct on Bartlett’s end, whether it has to do with her murder or it doesn’t, I’ll make sure he doesn’t get away with it. Until then, he could be innocent. I need more information.”

  “Yeah, guess you’re right.”
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  “In the meantime, don’t beat yourself up over Olivia’s death. No matter who’s responsible or why it happened, it’s not your fault.”

  Aunt Laura walked across the front yard and smiled at us. “There you two are. We’ve been wondering when you’d be back. Found a few photos of the cabin for you.”

  She handed the photos to me.

  I glanced at the first one and swallowed hard.

  Log cabin.

  Picture windows.

  Red door.

  The same house I’d seen in my dream.

  Was the cabin tied to Olivia’s murder?

  And if so, how?

  What was Olivia trying to tell me?

  Chapter 30

  I glanced around the table, feeling grateful for each family member in my life. In good times and in bad, when it came down to it, we’d always been there for each other, and we always would be. Seated around the dinner table was my mother and Harvey, my sister Phoebe and her daughter Lark, my brother Paul and his girlfriend Simone, and Aunt Laura, who sat next to me. Between us we had three dogs, two cats, one parakeet, and all the support a person could ever need.

  At the head of the table, my mother was talking to my sister about Nathan, my other brother who’d moved overseas with one of his buddies to photograph whales and other marine life for his art studio. He’d been away a few months now, and she didn’t like the idea of him living somewhere “too far away from family.” If she had it her way, we’d all live within a five-mile radius of each other.

  My sister managed to change the subject and my mother started gushing about the lavish floral arrangement Giovanni had sent her, a consolation Peppe had delivered to make up for Giovanni’s absence. My mother passed a plate of sweet potatoes over to me and said, “Giovanni is the sweetest, most wonderful man. He’s a keeper, Georgiana. Better seal the deal before he flaps his wings and flutters away. You know what they say about time—it waits for no one. Not even you. Tick tock, sweetheart.”

  Gee, thanks, Mom.

  Aunt Laura offered me a sympathetic glance, and Harvey attempted to introduce a new topic before the current one had a chance to boil over.

  “You get anywhere with the Murphy kid today?” he asked.

  “Harvey, please,” my mother said. “Not at the dinner table and not when you’re … you know.”