Once Upon A Murder

by D E Dennis

  Leaping into his path, Spencer wrangled with Bryan, fighting to hold him back.

  “You crazy, stupid townie,” he roared, spittle flying in Abigail’s direction. “You killed my son.”

  “That’s enough, Charming! Sit down!”

  Bryan escaped his hold and took a run at Abigail, his fist raised to strike. “I’ll kill yo—”

  Samira moved quick. She lashed out, grabbing his fist and twisted it behind his back. In one smooth move, she kicked the back of his knee and he went down with a cry, screeching and wailing while both Samira and Spencer climbed on top to restrain him.

  “Get off! Get off! I’ll have your badges for this, you—”

  What followed was a string of language so foul that Ella actually clapped her hand over her ears.

  “I think you need some time to cool off, Charming,” Samira said. “Let’s take a break outside.”

  They hauled a struggling Charming out of the house and the rest remained, their eyes moving away from the spectacle to land on Abigail Ino.

  Abigail sat impassively, not a flicker of emotion on her face, as though she didn’t even register that she had been denounced as a murderer or that a man had just tried to attack her.

  “Abigail,” Michael began. “It was you who killed Preston. Do you want to tell everyone why or should I?”

  Abigail slowly turned her head, her body remaining completely stiff. “There’s nothing to tell, Grimm.” Her lips curled into a sneer. “I didn’t do it.”

  “Oh, but you did, Abby.” He took a step forward. “It could only have been you. You put the poison in the bottle and you gave it to Preston Charming.” He addressed the room. “For those who don’t know, mad honey poisoning is the result of eating honey bees have made from the pollen in azalea flowers. It’s a common flower, but it’s not common knowledge that every part of the azalea is toxic and consuming a large enough dose of the grayanotoxins would be fatal.

  “Many don’t know this, but you did, Abigail, because of that infamous science project we kept hearing so much about.

  “Lance Hart.” Lance jumped when Michael leveled his finger at him. The guy was white as a sheet, staring at Abby like he had never seen her before. “You heard about mad honey disease from your classmate, Sarah Stone. Headmistress Wolf was kind enough to tell me that the topic of Sarah’s science project was household items many don’t know to be poisonous. She was also good enough to tell me that you, Abigail, are Sarah Stone’s lab partner.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” Abigail spat. “She told everyone what she was doing her project on. Anyone could have done it, even her.” She gestured at a surprised Peyton.

  “Me?” Peyton cried. “Why would I kill him?”

  “Oh please,” Abigail said derisively. “Don’t bother with the innocent look. You think we are all stupid? I know Preston was the father of that baby and he dumped you like burning trash when he found out.”

  “That doesn’t mean I did it!” Peyton yelled, clutching her stomach. “I wanted him to step up! I didn’t want him dead!”

  “It wasn’t Peyton.” Michael raised his voice over the noise. “She never had a chance to handle the bottle. She wasn’t allowed anywhere near the Charming house and a clerk definitely would have noticed a pregnant woman buying a bottle of whiskey. There’s no use trying to shift the blame, Abigail. It was you and I can prove it.”

  “You can’t prove anything.”

  Michael turned away from her and addressed the room. “This all started with a party. Abigail Ino suggested to her boyfriend that they throw a party while his parents were out of town. His parents took away his credit cards and cash, so Preston could not pay for this party himself, that was left to the girlfriend whose bank account he had been draining since they got together. Abigail purchased the alcohol for the party with her fake ID and among them was a bottle of Swashbuckler’s Whiskey with a ripped label.

  “Abigail, you set all the bottles out and let the guests help themselves all night. When the party was over, you took the bottle with a fair amount of alcohol still left, filled it with a little azalea tea, and gave it to Preston knowing he would hide it away. That part in particular was genius. Getting the murder victim to hide his own murder weapon. It’s what took us so long to find you.”

  Abigail scoffed. “That is all you have? That I purchased the bottle? I told you myself that I bought the alcohol for the party, so no big surprise there, Detective. It was sitting there all night. Anyone could have poisoned it and gave it to Preston.”

  “Not anyone, Abigail. Of the people who had a grudge against him only three of them were at the party. Ella barely knew Preston and wasn’t likely to show up to the party with poison before he gave her a reason to want him gone. As for Lance, he despised Preston, but he didn’t know about his secret hiding places, plus he was already getting back at him by sneaking around with you. Lance had what he wanted, he didn’t need to take it a step further and kill him. No, the only one who showed up at the party with murder in their heart was you.”

  Her composure was starting to crack. “These are all guesses. The party was how long ago? If Preston had the bottle stashed away in his room this whole time, then that left a week that someone else could have gotten to it.”

  Monica stepped right in, switching up effortlessly as though they planned it, and the truth was they did. “That is a valid point, Abigail, but there’s only one problem with that theory. Preston was grounded the second his parents came home and found out about the party. He couldn’t leave the house except to go to school and he wasn’t allowed visitors. Mrs. Charming has confirmed that no one other than a few of Bryan’s colleagues from work have been inside the house since the party, so if someone else is supposed to have been in the stash, how exactly did they get past the gate, security cameras, alarms, and two pissed-off parents to do it?”

  Abigail looked around wildly. “Then it must have been her or that piece of trash husband!” she cried. “They were sick of Preston. They lived with him. One of them did it!”

  Two bright spots of color bloomed on Penelope’s cheeks. “How dare you!”

  Michael held up a hand. “It’s okay, Penelope. We know it wasn’t you or Bryan. Preston was no idiot. He had the bottle nicely tucked away before his parents got home, rather than risk them taking it away from him. If the bottle was in the false bottom the entire week then Penelope or Bryan would have had to take it out of the desk to poison it and put it back. This means they would have had to know exactly where the hiding place was, and if they knew where it was...”

  “...why wouldn’t they have removed the bottle and destroyed the evidence after he died,” Monica finished. “Only a fool would have left it there to be found and they aren’t fools. Just like you aren’t a fool. You’ve tried many times to get the bottle back after Preston died. Penelope told us you have been at her gate every day after school with a different excuse to come in. ‘I just want to know how you are doing.’ ‘I want to talk to you about Preston.’ ‘I want something to remember him by.’ If only Penelope hadn’t been so adamant in refusing visitors, you might have been able to get to it before we did.”

  “But you had to try,” Michael picked up the thread. “You had to be thorough, but that thoroughness clued me on to you in the first place.” He gestured at Monica. “My sister said something to me last night about how all the alibis we had were useless, because they were for the time Preston was in the woods, when the murder had actually taken place hours earlier. But then I remembered you, Abigail. See, you didn’t just tell us about the movie you were watching at the time Preston went into Siren Woods.

  “You told us about your whole day. Coming home from school, being seen by your mom, staying in to do your homework, and then leaving with a crowd of girls to go to the mall that evening. Only you felt the need to give us those extra details as though you wanted us to know you were nowhere near Preston during that six-hour window when the poison took effect.”

  He lo
oked at her dead-on, right into her hate-filled eyes. “So tell me, Abigail, do you think it is proof enough that the victim was poisoned by a bottle bought and paid for by you, with a poison growing right in your front lawn, and on the night in question only two suspects could have given it to him, but it was only one suspect who tried to get back into the house after his death. I followed the path, Abigail, and you’re the only one left on it.”

  Michael finished his speech and took a breath. For a while, the only sounds in the room were Delilah’s and Adalynn’s soft cries. Abigail stared back at him, soundless and trembling. Not taking her eyes off him for a second, she slowly got to her feet...

  ... and bolted.

  Abigail darted past Michael and tore out of the room.

  “Hey!”

  Samira and Spencer had not returned from Bryan’s time-out, so not knowing what else to do, Michael ran after her.

  The click-clack of her heels echoed through the hallway but did nothing to slow her down. Michael saw her turn the corner for the kitchen and he picked up the pace. “Abigail, stop!”

  He rounded the corner and burst into the kitchen just in time to hear a furious yowl. Michael cried out and put his arms up as Luscious came flying at him, his claws extended. Abigail had thrown a cat at him.

  The sharp nails dug through the thin fabric of his sleeves and into his skin. Pinpricks of pain blossomed along his arm as the cat slid down his body and then fell to the floor.

  Luscious shot through his legs scurrying out of the room, while Abigail yanked the back door open and escaped through it.

  Michael chased after her, putting on a burst of speed, and appeared on the back porch just as she heaved her next weapon.

  “Argh!” She tossed a half-empty bucket of garbage and it crashed at his feet.

  Michael skidded to a stop, but it was too late. He tripped over a plastic water bottle and landed none too gently in the pile of trash.

  “A-Abigail, please stop,” he groaned, rolling on to his stomach and a used take-out container. He smacked the trash can and it rolled out of his way, giving him a clear view of Abigail looking around desperately, wondering where to run. “There’s nowhere for you to go! The police are right out front, and they know everything.”

  Michael pushed himself up and, panicking, she bent down and grabbed the hose at her feet. “Stay back!”

  Michael sighed. “Abigail, what are you going to do with that? Stop all this, please. It’s enough—”

  Michael took a step forward and Abigail showed him what she was going to do with it.

  “Ah!” She sprayed him full in the face. Michael staggered back and tripped, probably on that same blasted water bottle, and went down hard, knocking the wind right out of him.

  She kept the hose on him as he wheezed, trying to catch his breath under her onslaught.

  “I’m not going to prison!” she shouted. “I had to do it! I had to make things right! I won’t be locked up for doing the world a favor!” Mercifully, she turned the water off. “Do you hear me?! I won’t!”

  With great difficulty, every part of him aching, Michael got to his feet once more. “Abigail, I don’t want to lock you up.”

  “I didn’t—” Her bellowing came to an abrupt halt. She lowered the hose just a fraction staring at him incredulously. “Wait... what?”

  “I don’t want to lock you up.” He put up his hands as though in surrender. “Honestly, I understand why you did it. If I had been in the same position, I might have killed him too. I told everyone in there that this all started with a party, but the one you held at Preston’s house wasn’t the one I meant.”

  Michael abruptly changed gears. “Preston was never a very good boyfriend. He used you and you knew it, but the truth was you were using him too. You liked the status that came with dating the prince of Castle Rock Prep, son of one of the richest families in town. With him by your side, you weren’t just an invisible townie. What you two had was no more than a convenient arrangement and you thought nothing of hooking up with his best friend on the side. You weren’t in love with the guy anyway, so why shouldn’t you also be with the handsome Lance, who was so besotted with you and more than happy to get back at Preston.

  “That’s why the spurned lover stereotype didn’t fit you, Abigail, because love didn’t enter the equation with you and Preston... but it did with you and Delilah.”

  The hands holding the hose shook as she lifted it up, training it on him once more.

  “The party that set this whole horrible ordeal into motion,” Michael spoke faster, hoping to head off another spraying, “was the one you and your sister went to weeks ago. The one where Delilah woke up next to Preston.”

  “I left early!” she burst out. “Lilah wanted to stay, but I was bored so I went home. I left her there alone!”

  “And Preston took advantage of her.” Michael lowered his arms and took a cautious step forward. “But how did you find out?”

  She sniffed, eyes welling with tears. “The morning after, she came home and locked herself in her room, crying. She wouldn’t speak to me, but I knew something happened. Then we went to school that Monday and Preston walked in with that smirk—that disgusting smirk—and Delilah immediately fled. I knew right then what he had done. I could feel it. So I invited him out, poured some alcohol down his throat, and asked him point blank if he slept with my drunk sister. He laughed. Can you believe that?” She flung the hose away. “He laughed! Just like he laughed when he told me about getting rid of his little Peyton problem and how stupid his parents were not knowing he had alcohol stashed all over the place.

  “That guy was a monster dressed up in a pretty package and while I was okay with ignoring it before, I couldn’t now. She’s my sister. My best friend, and he hurt her. I couldn’t let him hide behind his daddy’s money and his family’s lawyers and get away with what he had done.”

  “I know that, Abigail, I do.” Michael took another step, closing the gap between them. “I have a sister too, and I would do anything to protect her. Anything.”

  Abigail’s tears cut through her heavy makeup, colored tears splashed onto her clothes, leaving white streaks behind. She looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes, and Michael was struck by how young she really was. “That’s why you have to end this, Abby. You have to protect your sister again. If you try to run away and refuse to confess, then everything will get out. You’ll be found, put on trial, and Delilah will be put on the stand. The entire town will know what Preston did to Delilah and you and I both know she doesn’t want that. It was incredibly difficult for her to come forward and be honest with your mother and the last thing she needs while trying to heal is to be the target of whispers and pitying looks.

  “If you come with me now and let Detectives Reddy and Gutierrez take you in, there won’t be any news cameras or picture flashes. You’ll be able to quietly give your statement, work out a plea deal, and this will all be over without having to drag Delilah’s name into it.”

  Another step.

  “You and I are the same, Abby. We just want to keep our sisters safe. That is our job and you have to do yours now. Turn yourself in... for Delilah.”

  Abigail’s face crumpled. “He r-raped her. He raped my sister.”

  Sobbing wretchedly, she fell into Michael’s outstretched arms.

  Michael threw his arms around her as she buried her head in his chest. “It’s going to be okay now. I promise she is going to be okay.”

  Dripping wet and covered with trash, Michael led Abigail back inside.

  Chapter Twelve

  “—and then Michael talked her down and delivered her into the waiting arms of Mira and the Frogman,” Monica spoke into the phone. “You should have seen it, Mom. He was amazing.”

  Michael sat at his desk pretending to look busy, but he was hanging on to every word.

  “Okay, bye. I’ll see you later.” She disconnected the call and came over to his desk. “Mom said she’s going to make your favorite for dinne
r tonight. To celebrate our big win.”

  “Our?” Michael quirked his brow. “Last I checked, I was the one who had a cat chucked at their head, rolled around in trash, took an unwelcome shower, and talked down a teenage poisoner. You were no help at all.”

  Shrugging, Monica perched on the edge of his desk. “You didn’t need my help. By the time I calmed the room down and came after you, Abigail was no longer beating on you. I didn’t want to burst out and rile her up again, so I waited and listened.” She wiped an imaginary tear from her eye. “You were so sweet too. Saying how you would do anything to protect me and how much you loved me and that I was the best sister in the world.”

  “I didn’t say most of that nonsense,” Michael deadpanned, “and the stuff I did say I was making up.”

  “Liar,” she sang out.

  “I was just telling her what she needed to hear.”

  “You love me.”

  He groaned. “Go away.”

  “I’m your best friend,” she teased, smile playing at her lips. “You would do anything for me.”

  “Moni—oomph!”

  Michael suddenly found himself with an armful of younger sister. She hugged him tightly. “I’d do anything for you too, Michael,” she said softly. “I’ve always got your back.”

  Michael smiled. “I know.”

  “Well this is a nice picture,” a deep voice sounded. “I’m glad I got to witness it.”

  Monica squealed and leaped off Michael. She ran at the newcomer and jumped into their arms. “Daddy!”

  Glenmore Grimm laughed, a sound that rolled out of his chest and filled the room. “Hello, princess, how are you?”

  “I’m good,” she said happily. “How was Europe?”

  “A riot of board meetings and stuffy old business people. I did not have nearly as much fun as I hear you and your brother did. Congratulations on solving your first murder, Monica.” He kissed her cheek and then looked over her head, eyes connecting with Michael’s. “And to you too, son.”