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  Those good thoughts instantly disappeared as soon as she overheard Martha raving about her dead husband––Brooke’s nemesis.

  Why does she do that? He made her miserable.

  Sudden memories of past Thanksgivings flashed by. Bill Anderson would get thoroughly drunk and start in on people. First in line? Brooke. Second? His wife, Martha. And third was poor little Haley, completely unable to defend herself.

  As for Haley’s mother, Brooke’s sister-in-law? She no longer came to any Thanksgiving, because her husband, Mark, Haley’s stepdad, “didn’t like the company.”

  Another piece of work. Marriage sure doesn’t get my vote.

  Then, voila! The food was ready, and platter after platter was brought to the table by different people, all moving in a well-coordinated rhythm, like a slow, highly rehearsed 1980s’ Michael Jackson dance routine.

  Larry did the honors and slowly carved enough turkey to feed a small army. And all the while he managed to do it with a rapid-fire, stand-up comedian banter he’d developed over the years.

  “Now, that takes talent, Larry,” Brooke said loudly near the opposite end of the table. “But less jokes and more carving, please. We’re starving.”

  More laughter and soon, everyone was served, additional drinks poured, and Henry stood up to make his yearly announcement.

  “All right, you all know what I’m going to say, but I truly believe this is what Thanksgiving is all about. It––”

  He got no further. The doorbell rang, and Brooke rose. “I’ll get it, Henry. Don’t lose your train of thought.”

  Chuckles accompanied her as she pulled on the door handle, wondering who it might be. With all this food, it can’t be a pizza order…

  Tony faced her with a bottle of wine and a bunch of flowers.

  Her gulp was fast and hard.

  “Am I too late?” he asked, handing her the flowers.

  Larry shot over to them. “Cool, you made it, bro. Come on in and set a spell.”

  “Yes,” Brooke said, “relax, take off your pants––jacket, jacket!”

  She could just imagine the huge smirk on Larry’s face behind her. Sure enough, his loud snort followed.

  But Tony looked oblivious––or at least polite enough not to make a comment.

  She let Larry escort him over to the table near his end, where Henry had quickly placed a full place setting, with a loaded plate and an extra full glass of wine.

  Brooke sat on Henry’s end of the table, waiting for the warmth from her face to return to normal. I’m such an idiot.

  Henry held up his own glass. “Okay, round two. Whoever wishes to say what he or she is grateful for, is more than welcome. No pressure, though. But please, also dig in everyone. Now.” He looked at Larry. “Larry, do you want to start?”

  Larry was in mid-bite. Almost choking, he waved his hand toward Haley next to him. In turn, she slapped him on the back a couple of times and asked, “Are you okay?”.

  Then Haley held up her glass of sparkling water. “I am grateful for having such a nice family. And through them, these good people all gathered here.”

  Lots of applause and “Awws” circulated throughout the room.

  Next, Grandma Martha raised her wine glass. “To my dear, departed husband, whom I miss every day. I am grateful to have known you, Bill.”

  Brooke’s explosive hiss made everyone turn toward her, including Martha.

  “Behave yourself, Brooke,” her grandmother snapped.

  Brooke shrugged. Really? How quick we forget, Grandma. Her “Sorry, Grandma” was slow, deliberate, and completely insincere. When she glanced over at Larry, he shook his head. Tony looked inscrutable, and Haley produced a soft smile, with just the touch of a head nod. She knows.

  “Brooke?” Martha said pointedly. “What are you grateful for?”

  Brooke drew a very long, deep breath. “Like Haley, I’m grateful for everyone here. We are all lucky to be able to sit down to this fantastic meal by Henry, fine drinks provided by Larry––and Tony,” she said. She eyed Henry who kept shifting his eyes toward the right. “And our new friend, Abby,” she quickly added.

  Abby smiled timidly and immediately took a large swallow of wine.

  “Abby, do you want to say anything?” Henry asked.

  She grabbed an even bigger swig of wine before she stood, holding her glass.

  Wow. Is she swaying a teensy bit?

  “I just want to thank Henry and Brooke for including me on this special day. It means a lot…” she opened her mouth as if to say more, but then snapped it shut.

  She’s definitely tipsy. Brooke managed to stifle a giggle.

  Next came full-on vocal silence, with only the scrape of plates, the clink of glasses being placed on the table, and Junie, standing up on her hind legs, stretching one paw up toward Brooke. Meowing softly, she put on her Beggar Pose. It usually brought on human smiles––and food.

  Brooke quickly petted her then pushed her back down, as Henry cleared his throat.

  “Well, I certainly know what I’m grateful for. I know, I know. You’ve heard me say something like this before, but in my opinion, it bears repeating.”

  With more clinks, and everyone’s eyes focused on him, he continued.

  “I was homeless, devastated, resigned to having lost everything in my life. But then, a miracle happened. I was not only rescued, my soul was saved by the most caring person in the world.” He raised his beer glass to Brooke. “That’d be you, kid.”

  Brooke’s eyes instantly filled. He’s never put it like that before.

  “Here’s to Brooke,” Larry said, his glass raised.

  Everyone followed suit. “To Brooke,” was repeated numerous times.

  Blinking several times, Brooke smiled at her roomie and mouthed, “Thank you,” before she turned to glance at Abby. Then Tony.

  Abby’s grin was stretched so far it looked like a plastic surgery procedure gone horribly wrong. On the other hand, Tony was simply staring at her, with just the hint of a smile.

  Brooke was about to say something unsentimental to stop from crying when both Larry’s and Tony’s phones pinged.

  Everyone quickly went back to eating between conversations. All except for the detectives. After they each read their messages, they stared at each other a beat, and stood up.

  “Police business? Have to go, fellas?” Henry asked.

  Both nodding, they gave vague waves to the crowd and started for the door.

  Brooke immediately followed them and handed them their jackets. As Larry and Tony were putting them on, she pulled Larry’s sleeve.

  “What’s up?” she asked.

  He puffed out a deep sigh.

  Not good.

  He told her in a low voice. “They found another cloth sack victim. It’s about to be announced on the news.”

  No! “Do they have the victim’s name?”

  “Yes, the victim is Wynnie Whitman.”

  Wandering Wynnie?

  “You’ve got to contact her sister, Cathy,” Brooke said.

  “Yes, they’ve been trying to get a hold of her. So far, nothing. Thanks for dinner, Brooksy.”

  As Larry leaned over to kiss her on the cheek, she caught a glimpse of Tony’s face over Larry’s shoulder. Emotion wise, it was not all that readable. Until one reaction did creep in––worry.

  She walked them both outside, where the driving rain was pelting water everywhere.

  “Guys, let me get you some umbrellas,” she said.

  They shook their heads simultaneously.

  “No time,” Larry said, and they were off, each jogging over to his own car.

  * *

  Not ten blocks away, that same rainstorm was wreaking havoc on another alley. Torrents of water were running downhill at an alarming rate, rats were nowhere in sight, and any feral cat had long since taken cover.

  Just one bulky object was present, awkwardly propped up against a building. It was another woman with a tied sack over her head.
Pinned onto her jacket label was a note, almost completely blurred by the pelting rain. But not quite.

  “Another naughty girl.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  At their Fun & Fit class, Brooke, Henry, and Abby guarded their secret well. Driving over, Brooke and Henry had talked it over and decided to see who else would break the dreadful news about Wynnie first. For some reason, Abby stayed conspicuously quiet.

  “What’s up with you, Abby?” Henry asked her gently at a stoplight.

  Instead of answering him, she turned toward Brooke. “I know, I know. I need to go back. Believe me, I’m planning to do that as soon as possible.”

  “I don’t get it,” Brooke said. “Why can’t you just go back now?”

  “Brooke, it doesn’t work that way. I have to get my special feeling.”

  Oh, brother. “Feeling?”

  Henry pulled over to the curb. “Brooke, stop it. Let the girl do her thing.”

  Brooke kept her mouth shut but couldn’t help how she felt. Besides, with Chief Bruner’s angry face constantly popping up in her brain, everything seemed worse. Much worse.

  As soon as they all entered the building, Brooke insisted they head straight to the weight room to see if Larry was there. Amidst clanging barbell machines, they saw him, deep into his cell phone, texting. He was wearing gym clothes but had obviously paused from his pumping iron routine.

  “Did you reach Cathy Whitman?” Brooke asked.

  He looked up and shook his head. “I was just texting the police desk. No, nothing yet. When they interviewed the Whitman’s staff, they were all pretty shook up.”

  “As well they should be,” Henry said.

  “Later,” Larry said grimly, and leaned over to pick up two small fifteen-pound barbells. He didn’t get far. Staring at Brooke’s head swivel around as she scoured the room, he asked with mock politeness, “Who you looking for, pray tell?”

  She shrugged. “Nobody. Don’t know what you mean.”

  “Tony. I’m talking about you wanting to check him out in his tight T-shirt.”

  “You’re crazy,” she muttered, but it didn’t help to see Henry give Larry a fast wink. She stalked out of the room.

  As for their fit class, there was nothing out of the ordinary. Same old prep routines, same old smiling Helen setting up her equipment. Until Salsa Suzette came in late, her eyes wide and flashing.

  “Did you hear about Wynnie?” she called out. “She was murdered!”

  Stunned by her announcement, the class just stared at her.

  “Oh, my lord,” Helen said. “Maybe we should talk about it, shall we?” She gathered people into a tight circle, then turned to Suzette. “Where did you hear this?”

  “The late, late night news. It––” She looked over at Brooke. “Wait a minute. Brooke, you must know about this, right?”

  Brooke’s sigh was heavy. “Yeah, we found out last night. But don’t worry, the police are on top of it.”

  Yeah, right. They don’t have a clue.

  Soon, the class pow-wow turned into a blame-game.

  “I bet Ruth Novak did it. She sure is evil enough,” someone offered. “And now she’s maybe on the run.”

  “Yeah, and she really disliked both Wynnie and Cathy,” Barbell Barbie added.

  Helen raised both hands. “Look, yes, perhaps Ms. Novak was kind of a Madam Nasty. Still, you can’t go jumping to conclusions. It’s not right.”

  “I like that. Madam Nasty. Perfect name for her,” Grinning Gary said.

  Normally, this was just the kind of gossip Brooke ignored. But not today. Bring it all on. Anything to––

  Just then, Creepy Collin walked by, a huge smirk on his lips.

  That’s it. I’m texting Larry.

  She walked over to the side of the room to text her old friend. Ten seconds later, her phone pinged.

  “I’m on it,” came Larry answer from the weight room.

  Another couple of minutes passed, and she could see Larry talking to Collin. The groundskeeper did not look like a happy camper. Far from it. His clenched fists and wide stance definitely read angry. Then furious. He raised his fist and was about to land a punch, when Larry grabbed him, twisted him around, and cuffed him.

  Seeing Collin led away, Henry commented, “Wow. That’s something. Let’s stop at the front desk to see where Ruth Novak is these days. She should at least be questioned, don’t you think?”

  Brooke nodded. But when the three of them approached the front desk, it was a no-go.

  “We cannot release that information. It’s privileged.” The officious woman never even gave Brooke a glance.

  Privilege. Give me a break.

  “Listen, this is a murder investigation,” Brooke said, “so just give us anything you have on her address and or whereabouts.”

  The woman behind the desk snorted. “Says who? A non-police person? I don’t think so. Come back with a warrant…and a real detective.”

  Brooke could feel her cheeks warming. “No Christmas tip for you,” she muttered.

  “No kidding,” Henry said as Abby let out a fast giggle-snort.

  * *

  With Chief Bruner out of the office for the day, Brooke figured it should be a piece of cake getting onto one of the computers she often used when okayed by Bruner. Besides, Larry would be there to run interference if one of the other detectives gave her a hard time. He also said he’d warn her if the chief suddenly entered the building.

  “How do you know when he’s coming?” she asked, keying in the computer’s password.

  “I have my ways,” he said and winked.

  Right. That cute female police officer at the front desk.

  Clicking on their special police ID site, she quickly found Ruth Novak’s name, address, and phone number. It was too easy. Looking up, she was about to give Larry the okay signal when she saw Tony, across the room, staring at her. Gulping, she returned to the screen and went for a further search.

  Not much more. Just that Novak’s ex-husband, Peter Novak, had worked for the Whitman estate, which she already knew. But then there was a specific fact that grabbed her attention. Apparently, Collin Bothridge was mentioned as a one-time business associate, back in 2015. Then there was a short mention of him no longer working with the Whitman estate because of a “serious disagreement.”

  A-hah. Creepy Collin sure has a motive.

  She looked up again. She heard an odd barking. Was it human? Yep, it was. She watched Collin Bothridge being led into a nearby interrogation room by Tony, another detective she’d seen around, and a man in a very cheap looking suit. A Loser Lawyer?

  She also noticed something else. Collin was holding his gardener gloves. It came in a flash. There wouldn’t be any fingerprints left on Wynnie if he did it. Hopefully, a hair follicle or clothes fiber would show up.

  Even in the main room, she could still hear his outburst. “Those two! I’m not going to worry about them. They deserve anything they get.”

  They? Aren’t we talking about just Wynnie? Where is Cathy?

  Larry suddenly appeared. “Finished?”

  She nodded. “Who’s the cheap suit? Must be a bottom-feeder.”

  “No way. He’s one of the best defense attorneys in the business––David Costigan.”

  She quickly shut down the computer and looked up at him. “Larry, do you think Cathy Whitman’s in trouble? I think the fact that Collin mentioned both of them is important. Frankly, I don’t trust him. Maybe he’s done something to Wynnie––and Cathy.”

  “You’re probably right. We’ll keep on looking for her, that’s for sure.”

  Just then, a triumphant Costigan exited the interrogation room, along with his client, Collin.

  Tony came over. “Costigan told us that without a charge, we can’t hold him.” He looked over at the wall clock. “Our shifts are done, and I could sure use a drink. Larry?” He glanced over at Brooke.

  Larry nodded. “I know just the place. Brooksy?”

  “Sure,
why not.” She snuck a peek at Tony. Was that a little smile?

  * *

  She knew the Blue Ridge Bar was Larry’s favorite hangout. Like something out of the forties, its cozy atmosphere and décor instantly put a somewhat nervous Brooke at ease. Of course, two rounds of whiskey also helped.

  Larry also downed his second one. “Brooke, remember that Tell-All game we used to play with our friends?”

  “Tell All?” Tony asked.

  “Oh, it’s kind of fun really. A sort of truth or dare game.” Larry cocked his head at his partner. “You guys willing?”

  It felt like Tony’s eyes were boring a hole into her. “Sure, I’m up for it,” he said.

  Larry officiously pulled out his small pad and pen. “So. I’m gonna make up a list of words or phrases, and in each round, we take a shot of the good stuff, then comes blissful honesty.” He chuckled as he jotted down a short column of words.

  “First up, favorite color.”

  Tony laughed. “That’s easy. Navy blue.”

  Get out! That’s my favorite.

  “Brooke?” Larry asked, his eyebrows doing a double time up and down.

  The jerk. He knows what mine is. “Navy blue,” she said softly.

  Larry gave his favorite color––gun-metal gray––and the game continued. Topics like favorite subjects, favorite quotes, and favorite musical groups. Tony admitted Hall & Oats. What? How can we have so much in common? Then what made each one angry? Sad? Happy? It all came and went, as did more shots of whiskey.

  Feeling no pain, yet trying for an ounce of dignity, Brooke knew Larry. He was building up to something. The room started to swirl.

  “Now for the harder subjects: love and marriage,” Larry said. “I’ll start.”

  Crap.

  “Frankly, if I meet the right girl, I’ll probably marry her. But for now, I’m having fun playing the field.” Larry laughed.

  “What are you, out of the fifties?” Brooke snapped. “We’re not all cattle.”

  Tony sat still, looking thoughtful. “I do believe in both love and marriage. Although I come from an old-fashioned Italian family who only promotes marriage with nice Italian girls, I realize I basically do believe in it all––kids, too. But with the right woman, not necessarily what my family wants.”