Last Whisper (20 page)

They emerged half an hour later, Brooke with a bag holding a frothy flowered chiffon skirt and a matching sequined tank top. “I don’t know where in the world I’ll wear this,” she said, acting baffled that she’d bought it, although Vincent had told her she looked breathtaking in it as she twirled in front of the mirrors, and two other guys had winked at both of them in approval.

“You’ll wear it dancing,” Vincent said.

“I never go dancing.”

“You mean Robert never took you to any clubs?”

“Robert?” Brooke giggled. “Robert’s idea of a good time was a rousing night at the symphony and a quiet glass of wine afterward, during which we could discuss the conductor’s interpretation of the piece.”

“Then you definitely need to be taken dancing. And not to the kind of music my father listens to. There were a few rock clubs in town when I lived here. There must be at least one left.”

“There is,” Brooke said. “Tourmaline. Very hot.”

“Tourmaline?”

“Tourmaline is a pink gem.”

“I
know
that. I just didn’t expect any place in Charleston to be named Tourmaline.”

“What did you expect? Hernando’s Hideaway?”

“Olé! And don’t laugh. That was one of my mother’s favorite songs.”

“She sang it to me once!” Brooke laughed. “She played it on the piano, very dramatically, got up and acted out parts of it, and made me smile for the first time since my mother was killed. I’ll never forget it. Or her. I really loved your mother, Vincent.”

He smiled wistfully. “So did I. I just wish I’d told her
more often, but when you’re young, you think your parents will be around forever.” His smile froze. “God, Brooke, I’m sorry. Your parents died so young. I’m an insensitive—”

To his surprise, she touched his lips with her fingers. “You’re not insensitive. Just natural. Mine was an odd case. Very odd, thank goodness. As for you not telling your mother often enough that you loved her, stop worrying. She knew it. One time she showed me your picture and started talking about you. Of course, she told me a lot of fabulous things about you that I’m sure were highly exaggerated”—she winked at him—“but she also said, ‘Sam and I have been very blessed to have a son like Vincent. He’s not only handsome and brilliant; he loves us,
really
loves us, although he never says it.’ ”

“Moms always brag on their sons,” Vincent said offhandedly, although Brooke saw the rims of tears at the base of his eyes.

“Your mother wouldn’t want you to mourn her,” Brooke said, pretending not to have noticed his emotions. “Your mother would want you to be happy. I know that sounds clichéd, but it’s true. She knew you wanted to be a writer, and that’s what she wanted for you. If she could have seen all those people gathered around you in the bookstore—” Brooke sighed, smiling. “Well, all I can say is that she would have been one enormously proud mother. And your father is proud of you, too. He’s just too cantankerous to show it.”

“You might be right about my mother, but not my father.”

“I’ll tell you a secret. One of those times when I’d slipped away from my adoring foster parents over to your house, your father read aloud a paper you’d written in college and sent home. He glanced at your mother, then at me with a look of wonder on his face, and said, ‘Can you only
imagine
having the talent to express yourself that way? It’s God-given; that’s all I can say. God-given.’ ”

Vincent stared at her in surprise for a moment, then abruptly got up. “I have to go to the restroom.”

Brooke sat down on a bench, waiting. The mall seemed
unusually crowded, almost as filled with people as it was at Christmas. As she casually gazed around her, she became aware of one person standing, looking at her. A few people passed between them and then she saw Judith Lambert from work. The woman wore a skirt just short enough to show her bony knees, and a short-sleeved jacket over a chemise that should have been covered, not that Judith’s tiny breasts were exactly overflowing the cups. Brooke didn’t know the exact time, but it was certainly after two o’clock, not Judith’s lunch hour. Maybe Aaron had given her some extra time off, Brooke thought, then decided the matter was none of her business. She gave Judith a brief smile as the woman continued to stand stock-still, staring at her.

Brooke looked into the bag with the chocolates, almost overcome by a craving for
just
one, when someone said, “Grieving for your lost friend, Brooke?” Brooke glanced up to see Judith standing over her, a look of outrage on her bony face. “According to Aaron, you were so upset, he gave you a few days off. And here you are—shopping your little heart out.”

“Judith, I just happened to run into someone—”

“Yes, I know you’re here with a man, what else?” Judith’s cheekbones seemed even sharper under the harsh lights of the mall. “I’ll be sure to tell Aaron I saw you and your escort having a lovely afternoon. I’m certain he’ll be
delighted
you’re making such a fast recovery.”

“Judith, if you’d just let me explain . . .”

“Explain what?” Brooke went blank as Judith glared, her eyes like shards of aqua glass. “You’re so pretty and you seem so sweet. You always get what you want while robbing the rest of us of what
we
should have.” Judith shook her head slowly, as if just coming to an important realization. “Nature isn’t fair,” she said slowly. “That’s why sometimes it’s up to man to correct the mistakes.”

Judith whirled and strode away so fast Brooke didn’t have time to say anything else, not that she would have known what to say. The idea that she was having a grand old time right after the death of Mia was ludicrous, but Brooke had to
admit she’d enjoyed her two hours at the mall, and that awareness immediately brought on feelings of guilt. But what on earth had Judith meant about man needing to correct nature’s mistakes? Was she merely trying to say something dramatic, or was she saying what she truly felt? Or worse,
meant
?

When Vincent emerged from the restroom, he looked a tad redder around the eyes and nose, but Brooke didn’t call attention to his altered appearance. She knew her words about his father had affected Vincent deeply and there was no need for more conversation on the topic. Still, she was mainly thinking about Judith, feeling both angry and shamefaced at the same time.

Vincent gave her a bright smile that dimmed when he looked at her more closely. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing much.”

“You saw Zach?” he asked in alarm.

“No. I’ll tell you later. Right now I’d just like to leave the mall.” Without thinking, she took his arm almost as protection. “How would you like to meet my grandmother?” she asked.

“You want me to go to the hospital with you?”

“Yes, unless you hate hospitals.”

“I don’t. I just didn’t think you liked me well enough to invite me to meet the person you love most in the world.”

“Oh, don’t get too carried away with yourself,” Brooke said airily, trying to recover her good mood. “I just like riding in your convertible.”

“How could your grandmother think I look like your uncle Heinrich when he had light brown hair and blue eyes?” Vincent asked as they spun back to White Willows to pick up Brooke’s car three hours later.

“Because she had you mixed up with her uncle Thomas, who had black hair and green eyes.”

“Well, then, don’t you think—”

“That she got mixed up last night and saw an orderly instead of Zach bending over her bed?” she finished for him. “No, I don’t. She hasn’t seen Heinrich and Thomas for forty
years. She also described the mole on Zach’s face; then she pointed on my face to the exact place where Zach’s mole was located. And she said he’d said he’d come for me. She didn’t even know Zach was out of prison, Vincent.”

“At least we think she didn’t. I know the staff at White Willows tried to keep her shielded from the news, but couldn’t some of her friends have seen the news and told her?”

“I thought you believed me, Vincent,” Brooke said quietly. “I thought you were the one person who believed that Grossmutter really had seen Zach.”

He was quiet for a moment, negotiating a tight turn on the way up the hill to White Willows. Then he said, “Brooke, I
do
believe you. It’s just that I know that if you’re determined to make the police believe that Zach got into that nursing home, they’ll be asking you tougher questions than I have been. I’m only trying to get you prepared.”

“Okay. As long as
you
believe me.”

“Why do you care if
I
believe you?”

She looked slightly flustered for a moment, then said, “I’d just like to know that
someone
believes me.”

No, I care if
he
believes me, Brooke thought with a burst of annoyance. What Vincent Lockhart thought shouldn’t matter to her at all. But, much as she hated to admit it, she did
care
.

When they pulled up beside Brooke’s car, she glanced at her watch. “Good heavens, it’s five thirty!”

“Think we’re too late to catch dinner in the White Willows cafeteria?”

“Let’s hope so,” Brooke said dryly. “Vincent, thank you for lunch—”

“Save the speech for two minutes. I’m going to open your car door and help you in like my mother taught me to do.”

“Vincent, I’m not an old lady.”

“I’m doing this for my mother.”

“Oh well, as long as it’s not for
me
.” Brooke sighed, amused in spite of herself, then allowed Vincent to get out, go to her car, open the door, and hand her in with a flourish. “May I adjust your seat belt?”

“I think I can manage that, and you don’t fasten women’s
seat belts unless you want to get the reputation of being a letch.”

“I
am
a letch.”

“Your mother wouldn’t like that.”

“Then I’ll leave your seat belt alone.” He stepped back and smiled. “I had a nice afternoon, Brooke,” he said through her open window.

“Me, too.”

“Thanks for taking me to meet your grandmother. She seems like quite a lady.”

“She liked you, too. She didn’t say much, but I could tell by the look in her eyes.” Brooke fumbled with her keys, suddenly self-conscious. “Tell your father hello for me. And thanks again for the day. It was just what I needed.”

“Good. Now I’ve heard what I’ve done right for the day. Next I’ll go home and hear from Dad everything I’ve done wrong.”

Brooke laughed. “You two love arguing and you know it. Good night. Sleep tight.”

Sleep tight?
she thought as she drove away from White Willows. That was the kind of thing you said to a child, not to mention sounding a bit intimate. Actually, sounding a bit strange, when you thought about it. What was the opposite of sleeping tight? Sleeping
loose
? What would that entail? “Brooke, you need to go home and have a quiet evening,” she said aloud. “After all that’s happened lately, you need to wind down like an old clock.”

Robert decided to go for a long drive through the summer evening with its tranquil, fading colors. The only problem was that the evening was neither tranquil nor colorful. By seven o’clock the sky had turned a flat shale gray and wind tossed around tree limbs, gently at first, then with more
force. A storm was coming. Robert had hated storms ever since he was six and lightning had hit their house, setting it on fire. No one had been injured. The incident had locked itself in Robert’s memory, however, and during storms he had crawled under his bed until he was twelve and became ashamed of seeking this haven, although sometimes he still longed for its safety.

Tonight Robert didn’t care that Charleston lay in the path of a storm. Bolstered by almost unbearable nervous tension and the remnants of the three glasses of wine he’d consumed at lunch and three more at home, he felt strong and reckless. A little lightning and thunder weren’t going to scare him, by God.

Robert thought about going to Aaron’s but quickly rejected the idea. They’d had a long lunch and Aaron had been supportive and charming. But Robert had sensed that Aaron was playing him, speaking with a lack of sincerity, trying to “jolly” him into a better mood. Robert hadn’t let Aaron know he’d sensed the counterfeit manner, but he knew something dark lay under Aaron’s wide smile and something hostile hid behind his ebony eyes.

Actually, he’d seemed wary of Robert. Aaron’s attitude hurt Robert. It also made him angry. He couldn’t understand why Aaron refused to acknowledge the threat Brooke posed to both of them. After all, Aaron’s violently homophobic mother actually owned Townsend Realty, not Aaron. If she had any idea that Aaron was gay, she’d jerk the business away from him before he knew what hit him. She’d write him out of the will, and if Robert knew the old witch as well as he thought he did, with her considerable influence she’d poison every well in the local business world against Aaron.

As he drove, Robert kept catching himself gripping the steering wheel and sitting with his back stiff as a board. He would draw a deep breath, let his back curve slightly, and loosen his hands on the wheel. Two minutes later, he’d be rigid and clutching again. He even began grinding his teeth, which he hadn’t done since he was ten.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d cruised around town before
he ended up at Brooke’s apartment building. He orbited the block twice, immediately seeing the police surveillance car parked out front. That quashed the idea of bearding Brooke in her den. If he cared to humiliate himself like he had this afternoon by pounding on her door, she’d sic the cops on him in a minute. But even if he had the chance, he wouldn’t try talking to her like that again, he decided. Reasoning was useless with a woman in love, a woman bent on revenge. Still, even as he told himself these things, he was parking half a block away from her apartment building, determined to see her and give talking with her, begging if necessary, one last try.

When Robert got out of the car, rain began to fall. Getting back in the car and simply driving away never occurred to him. He just turned up the collar of his trench coat, lowered his head, and circled the block on foot. Once he glanced up and thought he saw Aaron’s BMW parked on the other side of the street but couldn’t see the license plate. Oh well, Aaron wouldn’t be sitting around in his car on a middle-class street in the rain. I’m just jumpy, Robert told himself, and I have to calm down if I’m going to do this.