Last Whisper (37 page)

“You were successful. You cheered me up when I thought it wasn’t possible.”

“I guess I’m just a miracle worker.”

“You seem to be.” She looked down at her barely touched salad. “Now if you could just find Zach.”

“Maybe I overestimated myself,” Vincent said. “I don’t think I
can
find Zach. And I’m beginning to wonder if the police can, either, which is why I’m asking you again to leave Charleston. Brooke, he sent you your mother’s wedding ring.”

“I do recall that, Vincent. The ring that’s been missing since the same time as the letter opener. At least Zach is polite enough to have returned all of Mom’s things.”

“I don’t think being polite was his reason for returning the ring,” Vincent said dryly.

“I know. I was being sarcastic. Or sardonic. Whatever—you’re the master of words.”

“Don’t change the subject, Brooke. You
must
leave Charleston.” She gave him a hard stare. “Okay, I’m going out on a limb here, but would it make any difference if
I
asked you to leave?”

“Why do you say you’re going out on a limb?”

“Because I’m implying you care about what I want, that your safety is very important to me.” He made a small huffing sound. “And
you
are changing the subject again.”

Brooke’s gaze dropped. Vincent had said he cared about her, not in those exact words, but his meaning was clear. And she did care that he cared. She cared so much, the feeling frightened her. But she could not tell him how much his concern meant. She’d spent too many years closed off, hiding her feelings, not letting people in, especially a man she’d known less than a week, a man who would probably take off and forget all about her as soon as the excitement was over. At least, that was what she told herself, although the look in his eyes said that’s not at all what he intended to do. Still, if she let down her guard, she could only be asking for trouble.

“Look, Vincent, I don’t mean to be harsh, but I’ve made
myself clear on this topic. I’m not leaving my grandmother. Period. Now, it’s very polite of you to spend so much time with me, to express this much disquiet over my situation—”

“Polite! Disquiet!”
Vincent burst out, his eyes flashing. “I think if you were a guy, I’d punch you!”

“Well, then, I’m glad I’m not a guy,” Brooke returned, her voice remarkably calm in spite of her surprise. “To what do I owe that outburst?”

“To your patronizing attitude. I am
not
being polite to you. I am
not
disquieted by your situation. Good God, Brooke, why can’t you believe someone cares about you? Because your father died and your mother was murdered?” She winced, but he went on relentlessly. “Well, I’m sorry as hell all that happened to you, but it doesn’t mean you have to shut yourself away from everyone except your grandmother, dammit! You’re being absurd!”

A young waitress appeared at their side and with a red face said softly, “Sir, would you mind lowering your voice?”

“Yes, I would,” Vincent snapped.

The girl turned even redder. “Oh. Well, then I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave. You see, this is a family restaurant and the manager is—”

“Too much of a coward to come over here himself and tell me to shut up.” Vincent took a deep breath. “I apologize to
you
for my bad behavior.” He looked at Brooke. “I don’t apologize for one thing I said to
you
.”

“I’m crushed,” Brooke returned.

Vincent tossed a fifty-dollar bill down on the table. “Keep the change,” he told the cringing, crimson-faced waitress. Then to Brooke, “Let’s go back to the car.”

“No thank you. I will ride home with the surveillance police.”

“Surveillance police?” the waitress wavered.

“Now you’ve scared her,” Vincent accused Brooke. “If you don’t go get in my car, the cops outside will think we’ve had a lovers’ tiff and spread it all over headquarters. Would you rather have that than ride home with me?”

In a huff of annoyance, Brooke grabbed her purse,
marched with head high past the other staring customers, walked out into the warm summer evening, and climbed into Vincent’s Mercedes. Well, there’s one restaurant I won’t be able to enter again, she thought, seething. In a moment, Vincent climbed into the driver’s seat and they left the parking lot with a squeal of tires.

He did not put on any music. He drove too fast. He breathed heavily. At last he said sternly, “Brooke Yeager, you are the most stubborn woman I have ever known.”

“You acted like a jerk back there.”

“I haven’t been called a jerk since the eighth grade.”

“You’re acting like you’re in the eighth grade.”

Vincent was silent for a couple of minutes. Then he said almost meekly, “I’m sorry.”

“Fine.”

“ ‘Fine’? Not ‘apology accepted’?”

“I don’t know yet if I want to accept your apology. Give me time to think about it.”

Brooke expected him to keep pushing her, but Vincent just looked at the highway, his face set, his hands tight on the steering wheel. She wasn’t quite certain why she was so angry with him. True, he’d caused a scene in the restaurant, but the scene was minor and in a place where she’d never been before and knew no one.

A thought hit her. Could the reason for her anger possibly be that she knew he was right? That he was being perfectly reasonable and she was acting almost like a reckless, mulish kid?

She stopped breathing for a few moments.
Almost?
No.
Exactly
. A slow flush crept up her face. She, too, looked straight ahead but said reluctantly, “I guess you think I’m a total fool.”

“Not
total
.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“Well, do you want me to throw you a line of bull to get back in your good graces or do you want to hear the truth?”

She paused, then finally said, “The truth, I guess.”

“I don’t think you’re a fool. I think your judgment is
skewed because this bizarre experience hit at exactly the time you think your grandmother is dying.”

“The time I
know
she’s dying.”

“Okay. You’re probably right. But Brooke, the woman has spent most of your life trying to protect you. Do you think she put in all those years so you could throw it away just to be with her at the end? I know that sounds cold, but if she loves you as much as I’m sure she does, she probably couldn’t think of a worse ending for both of you. You know her better than anyone does. Leave sticky sentiment out of it and look at the situation rationally. What would your grandmother want? For you to live, or for you to sit helplessly by her bedside while she dies, leaving you with a good chance of being murdered within the next few days just like your mother was?”

“You don’t mince words, do you, Vincent?”

“I don’t sugarcoat things, if that’s what you mean. I say what I think. I didn’t mean to offend you, but I don’t apologize for anything I just said.”

Brooke wanted to say something cutting, something to put this know-it-all in his place, but nothing came to her. She wasn’t certain if that was because she was just too tired to argue anymore or if she simply was no longer mad. He’d made a lot of sense. She was beginning to think her own actions
didn’t
make sense.

They rode in silence for miles. She hadn’t paid attention to how far the restaurant was from her apartment building, but the trip back seemed to take forever in spite of the velvet warmth of the night. Somewhere along that drive, her anger at Vincent drained away. He’d been right. And he cared.

When they pulled up in front of the apartment building, Vincent finally turned to her. “Do you want me to walk you to your door or just let you out here?”

“I want you to come up and stay awhile,” Brooke said softly. “If you want to, that is.”

Vincent blinked at her. “I’ve been thinking you couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”

“You’re very often correct, Vincent,” Brooke said seriously, then with a smile, “but not
always
.”

He stared at her for a moment, then returned her smile. “I’m glad that I’m not always correct. I’d really like to come up. And I promise not to lecture anymore.”

“Good,” Brooke said easily. “Because more lecturing could get you tossed down the stairs in a heartbeat.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, ma’am.”

As soon as they entered the lobby, Vincent had the impression that a large parrot was darting at him. It turned out to be Eunice in a floating cheap green net and chiffon concoction apparently meant to be a negligee. “Have you seen Harry?” she nearly screeched at the couple in a high, tight voice. “Is he outside?”

Vincent, still taken aback by the birdlike creature in front of him, stepped backward and left the situation to Brooke. “No, Eunice, we haven’t seen Harry this evening,” she said calmly. “How long has he been gone?”

“Too long. I need to talk to him!”

“Did he forget about your insulin shot again?”

“Uh . . . yes. Insulin.”

Brooke knew better than to suggest that someone else be allowed to give Eunice her injection. “Maybe he’s doing something in the alley.”

Eunice shook her head violently. “He won’t go out there after dark since that Eads fellow got stabbed.” Eunice rubbed her arms and Brooke saw that they were beginning to break out in a rash caused from nerves. Brooke also smelled scotch and clove cigarettes.

“Maybe he’s in the basement,” Brooke said. Eunice looked at Brooke as if she were crazy. “I just noticed a light flickering back behind you.” This was a lie, but she didn’t want to stand here for twenty minutes with a nearly hysterical Eunice Dormer. “There could be something wrong with a circuit, and the circuit breakers are in the basement.”

“I’ll bet you’re right!” Eunice burst out. “He’s not afraid of the basement. I’ll go down right now and check.”

Eunice headed for the basement door in a cloud of violent green. Brooke looked at Vincent, who raised an eyebrow at her and said, “I didn’t notice a light flickering.”

“Neither did I, but she’s gone, isn’t she? We just have time to get to my apartment before she comes back.”

“Why, Miss Yeager, you wily woman!” Vincent laughed.

“What’s she done now?” Stacy asked, descending the bottom of the interior stairs into the lobby.

“Successfully diverted Eunice Dormer,” Vincent said. “Sent her to the basement in search of Harry.”

“The
basement
?” Stacy echoed.

Brooke nodded. “She was desperate for her insulin.”

“And romance, judging by that outfit,” Vincent added drolly.

Stacy shook her head. “Those two are nuts. I wish Harry would
really
screw up and we’d get a new superintendent.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Brooke said. “The next one might be even worse.”

“I don’t know how he could be.” Stacy glanced between the two of them and a small smile, almost a smirk, appeared on her pale, taut face. “Have a nice evening, you two. Jay’s working a double shift, so if you need me, I’ll be right next door.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Vincent said over his shoulder as he and Brooke raced for the elevator, hoping to avoid Eunice when she returned, with or without Harry. Brooke already had her keys out of her purse by the time they reached her door.

Elise ran to them, joyful as usual when her mistress came home for the day. “She’ll need a walk,” Brooke said. “I think there’s some wine in the refrigerator and some Pepsi and Sprite. Fix yourself something to drink.”

“No, you fix yourself something to drink,” Vincent said. “I’ll take out Lady Elise. After all, it’s after dark. Besides, you don’t really want to run into Eunice again, do you?”

Brooke let out a groan.

“I didn’t think so.” He knelt by the dog. “Want me to take you out for a change?” The dog licked his hand before he
reached for the leash Brooke offered. “We’ll be back soon. I promise not to run off with her.”

“Sure you don’t want to go down the fire escape to avoid Eunice?”

“We’ll take our chances, won’t we, Elise?” Vincent said. “Why don’t you put on some music?”

Vincent had ordered Chablis at the restaurant, just as she had, and neither had finished their glass. After he’d left with Elise, Brooke filled each glass, then found half a can of relatively fresh cashew nuts and dumped them in a glass bowl. You can certainly tell I don’t do much entertaining, Brooke thought ruefully. She had nothing else to offer a guest.

Well, she might be short on party food, but she had plenty of candles. They were festive, weren’t they? Festive or romantic. But she didn’t want to go for romantic. Or did she? Suddenly she didn’t know and was baffled. An hour ago she’d been furious with Vincent. She’d felt like she never wanted to see him again. And now . . . She lit five scented candles and turned off all but one lamp with a low-watt bulb glowing beneath a pink shade. The flickering light threw the room into soft relief, and the scent of the candles helped hide the faint, odd smell Brooke had picked up on as soon as she entered the apartment—a faintly familiar smell. Cloves? Had Stacy been right?
Did
Eunice prowl and had she been in this apartment tonight? If so, she hadn’t found the errant Harry.

Brooke pushed Eunice from her mind and concentrated on Vincent. He’d asked for music. She knew he liked rock—she’d heard him play it in the car—so she went through her CD collection and first pulled out Los Lonely Boys. No one could stay in a bad mood listening to them, she thought as “Señorita” came on. She knew the only other occupied apartment on the third floor was Stacy’s, and she certainly wouldn’t care how loud the music was as long as it wasn’t classical. Brooke turned up the stereo, kicked off her high heels, and took the pins out of her upswept hair, letting it trail down her back. She was sipping wine and dancing by herself when Vincent returned with Elise.

He walked back into the apartment, stopped dead, staring
at Brooke moving gracefully around the middle of the living room holding a glass of wine. His mouth opened slightly in surprise. Elise barked at her, clearly shocked by this abandoned behavior. Vincent let go of the dog’s leash, walked to Brooke, took her lightly into her arms, and quickly fell into the step of the sensuous music with her. He put his mouth beside her ear. “Does this mean I’m no longer a jerk?”