by D E Dennis
"I don't mean how did others see him. I'm talking about you. What was he like with you? How did he treat you?"
She frowned. "How did he treat me? What does that mean?"
Monica skirted her questions and gave out more of her own. "Were you always the one paying for dates? Did Preston rely on you for money?"
She shrugged. "He didn't rely on me, but yeah, his parents were way harsh. They kept a tight hold on his bank accounts and made him beg and plead for every cent. Penelope would spot him a few bucks when we went out, but sometimes I had to pay."
"Was Preston mad about that?"
"Wouldn't you be?"
Monica nodded. "Did he ever tell you why his parents cut him off?"
"It's because his dad is a jerk. The guy was banging on about Preston looking the best, acting the best, having the best grades." Abigail leaned in and lowered her voice like she was sharing a secret. "You know Preston didn't even want to run for student council, but his dad forced him."
"Why?"
"He said it would look good on his application to Castle Rock University, but Preston didn't want to go to college either. He just wanted to do his own thing, but his dad was always on his case, especially this year. He was”—she put on a deep, gravelly voice that Michael had to admit sounded just like Bryan Charming—“a man now and he needed to start acting like a man." Abigail shrugged. "Preston was totally stressed, especially these last few weeks. That is why I suggested we throw the party."
"The party was your idea?"
"Yep," she said proudly. "Senior year is brutal and everyone is freaking. We all needed to let loose and his parents were going away for the weekend, so I told him we should have a party at his place. I invited everyone, got the DJ, bought the decorations, and the booze—" She stopped, losing her grin. "I mean I—"
"We're not here to bust you for underage drinking. We don't care about that, but we do have other questions about the party."
She relaxed, reclining in her seat. "Like what?"
"Like how was Preston that night? Was he drinking a lot?"
"Define a lot."
"Was he fall-down drunk? Was he slurring his words? Did he not know his head from his backside?"
Abigail shook her head. "No, nothing like that. He was a bit unsteady toward the end of the night but that’s it."
"And what was he like when he was drinking?"
She shrugged again. "He was like any drunk person." Abigail lowered her gaze and began fiddling with the hem of her sweater. Michael immediately picked up on this change of body language.
"We heard he could be kind of cruel," Monica said softly. "Maybe even aggressive. Was he ever like that with you? Sober or otherwise."
"No," she said bluntly.
Monica pressed. "Did you ever get the impression that he didn't feel for you the way he claimed?"
"No, no, no!" Her head shot up to give Monica the full force of her glare. "He was my boyfriend. He loved me. He treated me like a princess. Why are you even asking these questions?!" She leveled a finger at Michael. "And why is he just sitting there like a dumb mute?!"
Michael let the insult roll off him while his sister tried to calm her down. "If you want my brother to leave—"
"I want to leave!" she snapped. "I'm done with these stupid questions." She lurched to her feet and stomped out, slamming the door hard enough to shake the building.
"That went well," Monica said sarcastically.
"I think it did," said Michael sincerely. "She all but confirmed that she was also on the receiving end of Preston's bad side."
"But how does that help us? She was at the movies when he was killed. She couldn't have done it."
"No, but she did tell us something interesting. Preston and Bryan did not have a good relationship and if she was right, it was worse the last few weeks leading up to his death."
Monica's eyes went round. "You don't think— his own son?"
"I don't know for sure, but we should look into it."
"But he and Penelope were home when Preston left for the woods, not to mention he hired us in the first place. A guilty person wouldn't do that."
"A guilty person would for just that reason. People assume inserting yourself into an investigation makes you innocent. As for the alibi, they claim they were at home, but if Bryan slipped out for an hour or two afterward, do you think Penelope would tell us?"
She blew out a breath. "Not with Bryan always breathing down her neck, refusing to let her speak to us alone."
"Exactly. I'll be very interested to see the security camera footage on the night Preston went out."
Monica rubbed her temples. "This case is making my head hurt."
They sat back to wait for the start of the second lunch block and the arrivals of Delilah and Peyton. The only question was: who would arrive first?
They got their answer thirty minutes later when Delilah Ino walked through the door.
"Let's get this over with." Her tone was much less hostile than her sister's but was still far from friendly.
Monica repeated her willingness to kick Michael out without hesitation and then she got down to business.
"Why didn't you go to the party at Preston's house?"
She blinked, taken aback. "What?"
Monica repeated herself.
"No reason," Delilah said. "I had homework to do. Big science project coming up and I wanted to get a head start on it."
"Was that the only reason?"
"Yes, that was the only reason," she said rudely. "Why?"
Michael’s eyes drifted from her face to the fists clenched tightly in her lap.
"I was just wondering," Monica said lightly. "Seems strange that your twin sister throws a big party and you refuse to go. Was it because you didn't like partying with her crowd?"
"I had homework," she repeated firmly.
"Okay, forget the party. Tell me about Preston. What was he like? How did he treat his friends? His classmates? Your sister?"
She shrugged. "You should ask Abby all that. He was her boyfriend."
"We're asking everyone that question, Delilah, and we've been getting some interesting answers. Some say he was as charming as his name, but others say he was mean and manipulative. A different person when he was drunk."
"Is that what they say?" Her face morphed into an emotionless mask, she gave nothing away. "Weird."
"There has even been an allegation of attempted sexual assault made against him."
There was a flicker of... something... that flashed across her face, but it was gone as quickly as it came.
"I don't know anything about that," Delilah said.
"I'm not saying you do," Monica continued, "I'm just wondering which side of Preston you knew. The handsome smiling facade or the cruel being underneath."
"Neither," she replied crossing her arms. "He spent all his time with Abby. The only times I hung out with him was when we all went out in a group, and again, he spent the time draped over Abby. We didn't talk. We weren't friends. I had nothing to do with the guy. Now is that it?"
Monica nodded. "Yes, you can go. Thank you for talking with us."
She blew out of there without another word. Monica turned to his brother.
"Did you—"
"Hello?" They looked up just as Peyton stepped into the room. "You wanted to see me?"
This time Michael stood up and held out the chair for a pregnant Peyton to sit down.
"Thanks. So what's up?"
Michael decided to speak up this time. "Miss Dunn, this is my partner, Monica Grimm, and if you want, I can leave the room, so you can talk with her privately."
She screwed up her face. "Why would I want to do that?"
"Because we want to ask you more questions about Preston and the kind of man he was. Some new information has come to light, and frankly, we need people to stop dancing around the truth and just be straight with us."
She tensed, her hands settling protectively over her bump. "What new information?"<
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"We know Preston was a different person when he drank. We know he treated his friends and girlfriends like dirt, used people for money, and threw his slights in people's faces. But more than that, we know he has at least one allegation of attempted sexual assault."
Peyton gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "He— He what?"
Michael nodded gravely. "We know he wasn't the guy people thought he was, Peyton, so there's no image for you to protect. You can tell us the truth about him and... what he did to you."
She started. "To me?! You don't think—" Peyton shook her head firmly. "Preston never forced himself on me. He was a jerk and a lousy boyfriend, but he never assaulted me. Never."
"How—"
Monica lightly touched his arm and Michael fell silent.
"How was he a lousy boyfriend?" Monica continued.
She shrugged agitatedly, tossing her head. "I don't know. He just was. He would go days without calling me. Stand me up without explanation. I'd find texts from other girls on his phone. Stuff like that."
"What about when he drank?"
"I don't know, he was mean, I guess. He'd make stupid jokes, but he apologized when he sobered up."
"Did he drink a lot?"
"Not at first. We dated for two years, and in the beginning, he was really sweet. He treated me like everyone else, but things kept getting worse for him at home. His dad was always hounding him. He was stressed all the time."
Bryan Charming comes up again.
"What do you think of his dad?" Michael put forth unable to hold back the question.
Peyton's face darkened. "I don’t think of him at all."
"You don't like him." Michael said it as a statement rather than a question.
Peyton didn't respond.
Michael leaned forward imploring. "Peyton, someone lured Preston into the woods, bashed him over the head with a rock, and left him to die cold and alone. Whatever he's done, our task is to find out who killed him. So, whatever you're holding back, you should know that we're not out to expose any secrets. We just want to find the killer."
He watched her stubborn mask begin to crack. "But I can't—"
"Can't what?" Monica pressed.
"I can't tell you!" she burst out. "It's the rules."
Michael shared a look with his sister. "What rules?"
"I signed a contract. I can't tell you or they'll make me give the money back."
Monica leaned forward. "Whatever it is, I promise it won't leave this room. No one will find out that you told us."
She worried her lip. "But I—"
"Trust us."
Her chin wobbled, her eyes welling with tears. "It's the baby," she sobbed. "I lied to you before."
"Lied about what?" Michael asked softly.
"The baby is Preston's but he freaked when I told him. He went running to his dad and the next day Bryan showed up at my front door. He said Preston and I were done and to stay away from him. Then he offered me money to lie and say I cheated on Preston and the baby was someone else's."
Michael's horror grew with every word. "You can't be serious."
She nodded. "He made me sign a nondisclosure agreement and told me he would ruin my family if it got out. I didn't have a choice. I'm eighteen years old and about to become a single mom. My parents can't afford to help me raise this baby. I had to do what he said."
The siblings shared another grave look. Peyton lurched forward. "You won't say anything right? You promised. No one can know Preston was the father."
Michael and Monica both gave their word to keep the information to themselves and she relaxed. "Thank you. Now, I have to go. Lunch is almost over."
They let her leave without comment. Michael didn't know what his sister was thinking, but he could imagine it mirrored his own thoughts.
He really hated this case.
Chapter Eight
Michael and Monica were quiet as they left the Forgotten Wing and headed for their car. They didn't speak again until they were in the car.
"So," Monica began, "Penelope Charming?"
He was slow to nod. "Yes. We need to talk to her, especially after what we heard today."
"We can't tell her what Peyton told us about the nondisclosure agreement."
"No, but maybe she'll tell us about it herself."
Michael turned the key in the ignition and hit the gas, peeling out of the parking lot.
It was a short drive to the front gates of Charming Manor and Michael lowered his window to tap the button for the intercom.
It took a few tries, but eventually, a soft voice came through the speaker.
"Hello?"
"Hello, this is Michael Grimm. I was hoping to speak to you. There's been a break in the case."
A pause. "My husband isn't here right now. He should be home in a few hours."
"Oh, of course," Michael said lightly. "Forgive me, I thought you would want to know right away, but if you want us to come back—"
"Wait," she said quickly. "Do you know who did it? Who killed my baby?"
"Not yet," he said reluctantly. "But we're getting close. We were hoping you could confirm a few things for us."
There was a pause.
"My husband and I can do that." She suddenly sounded dull and lifeless. "Please come back after six and we'll answer your questions then."
"But, Mrs. Cha—"
Click.
Michael flopped back in his seat.
"Should we try again?" Monica asked.
"No point. We'll just have to try again another time. Come on, let's go grab some lunch and then we can start piecing this case together."
"Sounds good. Want to hit the Little Pigs?"
"Um, let's try another place this time," Michael said, flashing back to shared muffins and laughter over steaming hot cups of tea. "There's a new taco place near the office. Let's go there."
She accepted that easily. "Yeah, alright."
They picked up their tacos and rushed back to their office ready to work. Michael cleared the coffee table and set out the food while his sister brought in the whiteboard and some markers.
Their growling bellies demanded they polish off half their meal before continuing, then Michael dusted off his hands and picked up a marker.
He wrote “Preston Charming” across the top of the board. "So, what do we know?"
Monica swallowed a mouthful. "Preston Charming. Rich but cut off. Popular but had a dark side. Overbearing father on top of his own impending fatherhood. Dating Abigail for her credit card."
Michael wrote it all down. "Now for motive. Peyton Dunn..."
Together, the siblings went through all the information they gathered, charting it on the whiteboard and discussing every point to death.
Monica was in the midst of arguing that a six-month-pregnant teenager couldn't overpower and bash a guy on the head, when they heard a knock on their door.
Monica frowned. "Who could that be?"
"A new client?"
She snorted. "Be serious, bro." Monica got to her feet and gestured at the board. "Cover that up. I'll go see who that is."
Michael snagged a throw blanket off the couch and tossed it over their work.
"Oh hey, Mira," he heard Monica say brightly. "What are you two doing here?"
He heard footsteps and then Samira and Spencer appeared in the entrance to their breakroom.
"I’m sorry to say this isn't a social call," Samira said.
"We have gotten complaints," Spencer said gruffly, scowling at Michael. "Apparently, you have been ambushing Preston's friends and trying to get them to talk without consulting their parents or their lawyers. The Harts and the Greers are pissed. They assumed you must be cops, so they called the chief and reamed her out until she explained you were private investigators."
"Well, she did explain so what's the problem?” Michael asked. “You two didn't do anything wrong. We’re licensed private eyes working the case we were assigned."
"The problem is the f
amilies don't see it that way. They told the chief that there would be no need for private investigators to be running around, harassing their kids if the cops—as in us—were doing our jobs properly. They don't want you near their kids again. They'll deal only with the CRPD."
Monica perched on the edge of the couch and reached for a taco. "Want some?"
Samira lifted a brow. "Don't mind if I do. I missed lunch."
"You can have some too, Le Frog."
Spencer accepted her offering with a wide grin and made sure to sit down next to her.
"We expected them to react this way," Monica went on while they ate. "So, this is hardly surprising."
Michael nodded. "If they want to talk to the police, that's fine. When you go question his friends, we'll tag along and—"
Michael stopped at Samira's firm headshake. "Not possible, Mikey. They're not the only ones who can't deal with you. The chief is spitting mad and she's revoked the few privileges you had. We're not to work with you or share information with you at all."
“Are you serious?” Michael said incredulously. “Lance and Auggie are both adults who chose to talk with me without calling their mommies and daddies. The chief won’t let you work with us because a few rich parents threw their weight around?”
Samira shrugged. “I’m afraid so. I’m under strict orders to not give you any information on the case.” She heaved a sigh. “You’re not to know that a judge signed off on our warrant and granted us permission to review the Fairy Tails’ gate security cameras. I certainly can’t let you know that the phone records came back. Or that the number that texted Preston the night he was killed was traced to a pre-paid cell phone so we hit a dead end.”
A grin stretched across Michael’s face.
Samira got to her feet. “And above all, I can’t give you that number or ask you to meet me tomorrow morning at the Little Pigs to discuss what we find on the tapes. No, I’m sorry but I can’t do any of that, so this is where we part ways, Grimms. We’ll see who the winner of that bet is.” Spencer got to his feet while Samira saluted Monica. “Thanks for the taco. See you around.”
The door silently closed behind the partners while Michael zeroed in on the scrap of paper sitting innocently on the chair Samira just vacated.