Tea, Anyone Read online

  Her appreciation for modern chemically infused mop sheets increased ten-fold as she made her final inspection and decided she’d done the best she could. Then her mind shifted over to Simon.

  Why he tore out that captain’s journal page was more than puzzling. She truly didn’t think he was a Tory spy. If he were, he wouldn’t have gotten so passionate about the Sons of Liberty, would he? Still, hiding Captain Goddard’s journal sheet kept her wondering what he planned on doing. And to whom he planned to show it. Samuel Adams? Dr. James Warren? She was hoping to see Simon but she realized his trip across town would take some time. He probably wouldn’t be back for at least another hour or so.

  Again, she felt stymied. What did a bad first mate have to do with colonial protests? He was apparently just a plain mad man, descended from crazy ancestors. As much as she’d always devoured and watched murder mysteries––in between bouts of spiritualism––this Lansbury issue seemed pretty minimal compared to what was truly brewing between the two countries. Her strongest hunch was that the gist of what would help Brooke and company would have to do with the upcoming revolution. Battles maybe? Bodies stacking up from Lexington? The Tea Party seemed so mild compared to the dark spies circulating throughout Massachusetts.

  “Robbie, are you dim-witted? Did you forget about tossing out the slop? The alley is awaiting, lad.” The fat, red-faced, sweat-laden owner was obviously in no mood for excuses.

  Slave driver.

  Hurling the rotting food out into the alley was a joy. Right. Yuck. It was so disgusting, in fact, she had to pause at least five times to step away from it all, so as not to retch. On top of the putrid smell of moldy food, the alley itself reeked of spoiled meat, rats, and urine. And the dizziness from inhaling all those odors? What a fun day.

  A loud clunk rang out. Then some sort of smacking sound against a soft object. What in the world was that? She put down the container and flattened herself against the tavern’s outer wall.

  From a short distance away, she could hear two men talking. Still in the alley, she inched her way toward a street, still pressed against different buildings. Step by careful step, she could feel goose bumps ripple over her arms and legs, as the male voices grew louder with each light tread. What were they saying? She strained to understand.

  Abruptly, a black cat trotted across her path. She covered her mouth to mute a loud gasp. All at once, she thought of her great uncle, who told her, “You don’t have certain abilities without a few downsides. If you’re anything like your mother, watch out for ultra-sensitivities in your life.”

  Black cats crossing in front of her was one of them. Ghosts were another one, but hopefully she wasn’t going down that road tonight.

  More talk floated out from the men as she continued to heel-toe toward their voices. After each movement, she’d pause. But if the flow of their voices didn’t stop, she’d continue on. Another step-step-pause, and she was in close enough range to actually hear them chuckling. Just another two drunken colonists?

  Completely flattened against a wooden house, she continued, until she heard one of the men speak. Frozen to her spot, she began to tremble.

  “Let us finish what we started, Wallace,” Simon said, his voice steady, strong.

  What?

  She stifled a gasp and moved on. Five steps closer, and she could curl her head around a corner building to actually see them. Instantly, she again clamped a hand over her mouth.

  It was Simon and Captain Goddard’s first mate, Wallace Lansbury, both now laughing. And that odd clunk was obviously their victim’s head being hit. Slumped over against a large shed, was Brendan from the tavern.

  Slowly, Wallace handed Simon something that looked familiar. What was it? A shirt? She couldn’t tell. Until she inched a bit closer. The object was a large cloth sack, and Simon tossed it over Brendan’s head. He then tied it tight around his neck.

  A sudden whoosh! and she was dumped down into the Packard’s seat, her body trembling so hard she had to grip the driver’s front wheel to hold steady. Seconds ticked by as she tried to gather her thoughts. Simon, a killer? And why was he with Wallace? And was the sack he used a Sheffield Company one, like Brooke had mentioned?

  No time to waste now. Throwing the Tarot cards back into the drawer, she almost smashed her finger in an effort to get out of the car. She slammed her garage door shut, locked it, and ignoring the early hour, ran down the alley to Brooke and Henry’s back kitchen door. She banged on it repeatedly until Brooke opened it, her face a mix of fright and worry. Behind her stood an equally concerned looking Henry.

  They led Abby over to their kitchen table where she sat down, and still shaking, was given a teacup with her favorite tea bag, while the microwave heated up the water.

  “What? What? Tell us!” Brooke slapped her hand on the table.

  After Henry poured the hot water into her cup, Abby took a deep breath then began.

  She tried hard not to leave anything out. No longer simply names, she talked in detail about Simon. How helpful he had always been, how smart, and how, from the very beginning, he had talked about his dislike of Brendan. She made sure to include his, “Let us finish what we started” remark to Wallace.

  “We already know Wallace Lansbury is a bad guy.” Henry scratched his chin thoughtfully. “But he’s British. Why would he be working with a colonist? Unless Simon was a spy. All right. I’m off to the library as soon as it opens this morning, to research more ancestry things.”

  “And I’m going to think about all of this in terms of connections.” Brooke eyed Abby carefully. “Abby, you’ve done good, I think. I hope. Anyway, we’ll find out. Go home and rest now and let us try and do our thing.”

  “As if I could rest,” Abby said. “Where’s Junebug?” Her voice sounded childlike and needy.

  While Brooke went on a search for the feline, Henry packed up his knapsack and prepared to leave.

  Once he left, the two women moved to the living room. And as Brooke downed one cup of coffee after another, Abby cradled the purring Junie in her arms.

  “Boy, do I need this little girl today,” she said softly.

  Brooke stayed quiet.

  “Brooke?” Abby stopped stroking her fluffy comfort beast.

  “I’m thinking about that creep, Collin. He used to work for the Whitman’s father, didn’t he? I mean, he lost his job. To me, that’s grounds for some serious resentment, right?”

  Abby nodded. “Maybe. Maybe we should also look into the Whitman family more fully. There’s a lot of money there. It could mean something.” She sighed. “I know firsthand how money doesn’t necessarily bring happiness.”

  “Oh, Abby…” Brooke reached for Abby’s hand and stroked it lightly. “Okay. I’ll look into the Whitman family more thoroughly. And also, Ruth Novak’s ex-husband. He’s their lawyer.”

  Looks like that email warrant might be needed. And soon.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The next morning, sitting on their sofa and drinking her mega-caffeinated coffee, Brooke stopped to draw a deep breath. She knew what Henry said to her earlier was probably true. Maybe she did get kind of manic when she was sorting out a case. So what? Did he have to make a joke about it? Yes, she had spent a lot of the night and part of the morning wracking her brain to make connections in this case. She’d printed out the Sheffield Company’s short list of clients, even though some of the names on it were just initials. People like A. C., W. L., P.W., M. B., and so forth.

  On top of that, she copied and pasted that list into a bigger doc, linking people and events from the past to their modern suspects. That was sure to clarify things, she reasoned. But after a while, her head churned with so many possibilities, she couldn’t think at all––about anything.

  She had to come up with something else. “Enter Herbert, D.D.S.,” she said aloud to a sleeping Junie.

  “The dentist?” Henry asked, coming into the room, one eyebrow raised.

  “Yes, Henry, the dentist,” she said. “A
nd let me tell you why. Besides being a decent dentist, I’ve learned he’s a research guru when it comes to forensics. It’s a hobby of his. Wow, the stories he’s told me.” She paused. “You, of all people, should appreciate that.”

  “Yes, you’ve already told me all about his fine abilities besides dentistry. But is this your Hail Mary?”

  “Hail Mary. Nice,” she muttered. Then it hit her. Could it be that Henry felt sidelined somehow? Didn’t he know how important his ancestry research was? She softened her words. “Look, I figure while you do your incredibly thorough ancestry research, I might as well talk to someone who comes from a scientific angle, you know?”

  She watched his shoulders relax. Good.

  Still, she had to make sure. Later, with his backpack strapped on, when Henry reached for the door handle to exit, she came over and patted him lightly on his arm. “Friends again?”

  His sweet smile was reassuring. “Brooke, we’ll always be friends.”

  * *

  Dr. Herbert’s office was far more modern than most of the other Hillside dentist offices. Pristine white walls with a smattering of framed, trendy graphics hung across them in well-planned, tasteful patterns. No dingy green walls and sprinkled linoleum patterns here. Nice, wood floors––at least ones that resembled wood, anyway, and high-tech, state of the art dental equipment. Definitely not like the office her grandfather forced her to go to so long ago.

  But that was another story. Today was only for sitting in the chair and pumping Dr. Herbert full of questions then jotting down any pertinent answers. After calling him earlier, he had told her he would of course fit her in for her questions, but she’d have to come after the one appointment he had made for that afternoon.

  In the office building’s lobby, she glanced at her watch. “Uh-oh. Twenty minutes early.” His helper, Mrs. Stein would be there, so she figured she could just go inside and wait. She only hoped there would be more of those cool Scientific American magazines around. She stepped into the bright, cheerful waiting room, nodded to Mrs. Stein––and gasped.

  On the east side of the room, Dr. Herbert’s other patient was already there on the two-seater sofa, reading a Time magazine. It was Tony. OMG.

  He looked up, flashing her a grin. “Well, what do you know. Talk about coincidences. Tooth issues or just a cleaning like me?” He patted the space next to him.

  Drawing a little sigh, she sank down next to him. “No tooth problems. Actually, I’m here for our case.”

  “Come again?”

  She almost smiled. What a quaint way of expressing himself. A Masterpiece Theater devotee?

  “Yeah, Dr. Herbert and I go back a few years. I’ve learned he’s an amateur forensic specialist.”

  “Is that his actual label?”

  What is with making fun of the dentist’s forensic abilities? She shrugged. “Of course not. It’s just that I’m open to all kinds of ideas. He’s helped me in the past. I figure it’s worth a shot. I mean, we’ve got four dead bodies on our hands.”

  “Look, Brooke, it was just a little joke. A bad one, obviously.”

  “No problem. I’m fine,” she said and reached for a magazine.

  Several seconds ticked by. Being so close to him was unnerving. Peripherally, she saw him put his magazine down.

  “This might be a chance for us to talk about the case.”

  “I told Larry everything that Abby told us. I assume he passed that on to you.”

  “I know, I know, but I thought since we’re waiting here, we could at least bounce some ideas off of each other.”

  She looked down at her hands as her cheeks warmed.

  Leaning a little closer, his voice went deeper. “Brooke, have I offended you in any way? You seem annoyed with me.”

  Her sigh was louder than she had intended. “No, it’s just not much to discuss. Maybe after I talk with Dr. Herbert. You can come in with me if you want.”

  “All right,” he said slowly.

  Say something. The man deserves that. “Look, I’m not mad at you. I just don’t have anything to say.”

  “You mean after we danced so close the other night, right?” He paused. “Frankly, I really liked it, and I thought you did, too. Was I wrong?”

  Oh, boy. This time her sigh was shaky. “Look, I know you have a lot more experience with the opposite sex than I do. After all, girls are always flinging themselves at you, but I––”

  “Do you really think I like that?” he interrupted. “I swear I don’t go looking for it.” He sounded hurt.

  “Come on, what guy wouldn’t like that? Talk about ego boosting.” She thought of Larry’s reaction to any attention he got.

  “Well, that’s not me. Maybe if you got to know me better, you’d realize that.”

  She was mulling over a snappy answer when Dr. Herbert stepped in, breathing hard, as if he’d just run a record-breaking sprint.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Stein. Hi, Brooke. Hi, Tony.” He eyed the two of them sitting on the sofa together, then looked at the five other separate empty chairs. “I gather you know each other?”

  “Yes, we do,” Tony said. “Right, Brooke?”

  Ignoring him, she looked up at the dentist. “Actually, Dr. Herbert, since Tony is one of the lead detectives on the case I’ve been doing research for, I told him he could come in with me.”

  “All right. But Tony, since my hygienist is out on maternity leave, I’ll be cleaning your teeth myself. But no problem. I can even do it while Brooke and I talk.”

  “That’ll be interesting,” Tony said.

  * *

  Because of his special relationship with one of the local librarians, Roberta, Henry knew he could count on her for research goodies. Over the past couple of years, she had been very helpful to him. Brooke recently insisted it was because Roberta had a thing for him, but he insisted back that Brooke was nuts and pooh-poohed her insinuations.

  “Henry, you’ll always be in love with your wife, so when it comes to romance, of course you’d never really see someone else being interested in you.”

  “Not gonna happen,” was his answer.

  Then, about a month ago, he did detect something. He caught the librarian looking at him more than once as he sat in front of the microfiche machine. In fact, one day he counted four times he caught her staring at him. Truth be told, it was bordering on an ogle. But he didn’t tell Brooke about it. No way. That’d just add fuel to her matchmaking fire.

  Now, when he arrived, armed with notes from Abby’s last colonial encounters, he was slightly dismayed. Roberta was not only behind the front desk, she was wearing a somewhat risqué blouse under her jacket, instead of her usual mock Hillary Clinton pantsuit.

  He gulped. Then, nodding to her instead of giving his usual broad smile, he quickly grabbed a seat in front of one of their computers, switched it on, and took out some notes from his knapsack. Don’t look at her. Don’t. But after a couple of minutes, he did sneak a peek. She was eyeing him with an expression that resembled a hurt child. Uh-oh.

  He swiveled back to the screen, determined to shove any thoughts, other than the four corpses, as far away from him as possible.

  It worked. He immersed himself in different articles about the Whitman family and their hefty estate as well as written pieces regarding Joseph Whitman, himself. How he had received the coveted Businessman of the Year award numerous times. How he and his wife had proudly donated certain sums of money each month, and what a blissful family life he, his wife, and their three children enjoyed in their gargantuan mansion.

  Henry dove in further. He investigated any tax frauds linked to the Whitman’s estate. Nothing. He scoped out one article after another having to do to the Whitman’s corporation. Problem was most of the editorials were written by unknown sources and were either overblown with praises or infiltrated with corporate lingo that was impossible to understand.

  Then he saw something that pulled him in. It was a short article about local lawyers and how they could help pe
ople with estates. The main person interviewed on this particular date? Peter Novak, Esq. It included the man’s website. Bullseye.

  On his website’s home page, a bulleted list appeared, describing all the services he provided for his clients––all with proper legal wording. It was the usual yawn fest that included, “I declare this to be my will and revoke any and all wills and codicils I previously made.” What a bore.

  He scrolled down. Apparently, one of Novak’s claim to fames was his unique trust. Something he swore by. What was it? Under the Novak Trust, a sole surviving child could inherit everything the second his or her siblings died. Although getting inheritances faster was what was appealing about trusts in general, according to Novak’s unique one, money could be inherited even faster than the usual trust timeframe.

  When Henry re-tabbed the Joseph Whitman article and found something about the sole surviving Whitman child, Michael, he found out the man had immediately inherited a cool ten million, in record time.

  For heaven’s sake. I must tell Brooke about this as soon as possible!

  He glanced up and around, pleased with himself. Until he spied Roberta. She was anchoring her eyes on him, with the most forlorn expression imaginable.

  Oh, dear.

  * *

  With Tony leaning far back in the dental hot seat, Brooke began her questioning.

  “Dr. Herbert, of course strange serial murder cases have existed forever, but have you ever studied anything about a single family’s tendency toward violence?”

  He pulled on a pair of latex gloves. “Yes, I have.”

  “What do I have?” Tony asked, his voice a bit garbled.

  “No, no, you’re good, Tony,” Dr. Herbert said. “I’m answering Brooke.”

  Tony rolled his eyes.

  Proceeding with his ultrasonic instrument, the dentist concentrated on finding any tartar residue––as well as continuing his story.

  “This particular case happened about two hundred years ago,” the dentist began. “The family was named O’Brien and two of the brothers were doozies. They were originally from Ireland and had come over here with the rest of their family during the huge migration period of the late 1800s. Like many people at that time in New York City, this family had to live in pretty horrific conditions.”