Last Whisper

by Carlene Thompson

  Stacy looked at her blankly for a moment. “How did Robert get your mother’s letter opener?”

  “I don’t think he did. It would have been too much of a coincidence if he’d come across it somewhere.” Stacy kept looking at her in confusion. “I remember that a few days, maybe a week, before Mommy was killed, she was looking all over the place for her letter opener. She accused me of taking it. Of course I didn’t. I wasn’t even allowed to touch it. She kept it in a felt wrapper that was supposed to prevent tarnish and she didn’t want anyone touching it. One time she caught Zach handling it and she had a fit.”

  “Because it was a gift from your father.”

  Brooke nodded. “Zach was jealous that she was so possessive of something given to her by Daddy. I remember he threw it on the floor and stormed out of the house. By then, their arguments were getting fairly regular, but my mother cried over that one. She didn’t see me watching her, but she wiped the letter opener over and over, as if to get every trace of Zach’s handprint off it, then wrapped it again and hid it in a bookcase. A couple of days later, she couldn’t find it.”

  “Zach took it.”

  “Probably. And her wedding ring from Daddy. It had a tiny diamond in it and on the inside was engraved ‘Anne and Karl.’ She kept it in a small blue felt jewelry box in her lingerie drawer. When she found it missing the same time as the letter opener, she was nearly hysterical.”

  “The ring disappeared the same time as the letter opener?”

  “Yes. At least, my mother discovered that it was missing the same day. The ring could have been gone for several days or even weeks before she noticed it, but I don’t think so. I have a feeling Mommy looked at that wedding ring almost every day.”

  Stacy tapped her fingers on her thigh, as if thinking. “The ring aside, Zach couldn’t have kept a letter opener all this time he’s been in prison.”

  “No. He must have had it hidden somewhere.”

  “Why wouldn’t he have just thrown it away?”

  “Stacy, I have no idea. Zach Tavell was always a mystery to me. Even though I was only nine when my mother married him, I couldn’t understand why she did it. They’d known each other less than three months. He was completely different from my father—serious, quiet, almost gloomy.”

  “It must have been a rebound relationship for your mother.”

  “That’s all I can figure out, not that I understood such a thing at the time. I just remember I wasn’t happy about the marriage, although I tried to pretend I was because I thought it made my mother happy. But it didn’t. I’m sure she would have divorced him.” Brooke almost choked on a humorless laugh. “But she didn’t get a chance because he killed her first.”

  “Drink some more of your coffee,” Stacy said briskly, obviously afraid Brooke was going to burst into tears or worse. “Just remember, they aren’t sure the letter opener was the murder weapon.”

  “No, it just turned up after fifteen years next to a man who’d been stabbed God knows how many times.”

  Stacy sighed. “Okay. Let’s say that Zach has had this letter opener hidden someplace for fifteen years. Why would he kill Robert with it?”

  “He had it with him. It was a weapon of convenience.”

  “I repeat, why? Why would Zach Tavell kill Robert?”

  “Because Zach has been following me. Therefore, he must have seen Robert following me, too. When he saw Robert trying to break into my apartment last night, he killed him.”

  “To protect you?”

  Brooke drained her cup, then gave her friend a grim smile. “No, Stacy. Because Zach wanted to be the one to kill me.”

  thirteen

  1

  Aaron Townsend’s doorbell rang. He looked out the window, saw his sister’s car, and hurried to the door. When he opened it, he smiled when he saw her elegant black pantsuit accented by the mandarin collar and French cuffs of a white silk blouse. “Maddy, you look stunning.”

  “I’m not sure that’s the proper compliment for funeral attire, but I’m glad you approve.” She smiled. A gust of cool breeze blew her shining black hair across her beautiful face. “Maybe I should have pulled my hair into a French twist.”

  “No. I hate it that way. It looks like Mother’s,” Aaron said. As his sister walked ahead of him, Aaron asked, “Maddy, are you feeling all right?” She looked at him questioningly. “It’s just that—”

  “I’m limping more than usual,” she finished for him. “Aaron, you have to stop being so squeamish about mentioning my leg. My limp is worse because I took a tumble out the back door day before yesterday. I tripped over the cat. I’ll be all right by tomorrow.”

  Aaron ushered Madeleine into the foyer of his large stone house. “Mother said you should get rid of that cat.”

  “I live in Mother’s house and I obey all of her rules except that one. If Shadow goes, so do I, and Mother knows it. Besides, it wasn’t Shadow’s fault; it was mine.”

  “Whatever you say. By the way, she’s not coming to Mia’s funeral, is she?”

  “Shadow?” Aaron smiled. When the brother and sister were together, all traces of formality on Madeleine’s part vanished. “Oh, you meant Mother. Well, much to your disappointment, no. She said she didn’t even know the girl. Besides, she claims her sciatica is acting up.”

  “She has extremely convenient sciatica,” Aaron said dryly. “It always acts up when there’s an event she doesn’t want to attend.”

  “You disrespectful boy!” Madeleine looked Aaron up and down. “That silk robe is beautiful, but do you plan to wear it to the funeral?”

  “I was waiting for you to get here to help me decide which suit looks best—the navy blue Joseph Brooks or the charcoal Perry Ellis.”

  “The charcoal has always been one of my favorites.”

  “Tie?”

  “Solid black. It’s stylish yet appropriate for a funeral. You’ll look extremely handsome.” Madeleine frowned. “Although you’re very pale. Are you ill?”

  “I’m exhausted after the conference yesterday. In fact, I could use a cup of coffee before I start getting dressed. Want one?”

  “Sure.” Madeleine followed him into the large kitchen fitted with stainless-steel appliances. She loved the marble counter-tops and the off-white cabinets that seemed to glow in the light pouring through the skylight. The room was so different from the huge old-fashioned cavern of a kitchen in her mother’s house. Madeleine sat on a stool at the maple butcher-block-topped island in the center of the room, slipping her arm from her cane, which she leaned against the next stool. “I thought you weren’t going to that conference in Cleveland yesterday.”

  “I thought I wasn’t, too, but at the last minute, I decided it wouldn’t look good if I didn’t show up.” He handed her a delicate teacup and saucer, the cup filled with a fragrant exotic blend. “Normally I would have spent the night and come back today. Instead, I headed back around eight.”

  “Which means you didn’t get home until midnight.”

  “Well past midnight. There was a wreck involving a semi-truck that tied me up for at least forty-five minutes. And my head was killing me. God, those conferences are boring.”

  “I spent the day with Mother. She insisted she felt horrible and we went to the emergency room. I think they did every test known to man—”

  “And didn’t find a thing wrong?” Aaron asked in mock surprise.

  “How did you guess?” Madeleine laughed.

  “I know Mother. She probably enjoyed all the attention immensely, not to mention having the thrill of wasting your day.”

  “Thank heavens I took a novel with me. Anna Karenina. It’s about ten thousand pages long and I almost finished it.”

  Aaron smiled, sipping his coffee. “So we both had fabulous days. I tried to call you on my way home, but I had bad cell phone reception.”

  “You don’t have to report in to me, Aaron.”

  “I wasn’t. I just wanted a little witty repartee. I can’t stand the radio
and I was sick of every CD I’d taken with me.”

  Madeleine beamed. “I’m glad you consider my conversation witty. Mother certainly didn’t.”

  “She wanted to spend her time telling the doctors and nurses in minute detail about each of her aches, about how truly terrible she feels every single day of her life, but how she soldiers on, a model of strength and dignity in spite of her bone-wrenching agony.”

  Madeleine burst into giggles.

  “Well, I’m sure she managed to hear that blasphemous outburst, so I’ll probably drop dead in the cemetery.”

  “If you do”—Madeleine grinned—“at least you’ll be well dressed.”

  Aaron put down his cup. “Not if I don’t stop gabbing with you and put on some clothes.” Just as Aaron rose from the stool, the doorbell rang. He glanced at the clock. “Eleven fifteen and the funeral is at one. Who the hell can this be?”

  “Do you want me to answer it while you get dressed?” Madeleine asked.

  “It’s my house, it’ll be someone for me, so I might as well go,” Aaron returned sourly. “But of all times . . .”

  Aaron tied the sash of his paisley print robe tighter around his waist and walked to the door. He looked out the peephole to see two unfamiliar men standing on the low stone porch. Neither looked the least bit tentative, as if they might be at the wrong house. In fact, they each looked almost severe. For a moment Aaron thought about calling for Madeleine—men usually acted more polite and milder in her presence—but he then decided it would be cowardly to hide behind his little sister. He swung open the door. “May I help you?”

  “Aaron Townsend?” the older, balding one asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Detective Myers and this is Detective Corrigan. We’re from the Charleston Police Department. We’d like a moment of your time.”

  The Charleston Police Department? For a moment, Aaron’s stomach clenched. His great-uncle had been the police superintendent many years ago. Aaron had always hated the harsh-voiced, hook-nosed old man. “Of course.” He paused. They stared at him, then at his colorful robe, which until just this moment Aaron had loved. Suddenly he thought it looked prissy. “Won’t you come in?” he asked in a voice slightly deeper than normal. At least I can sound manly even if I don’t look it, he thought.

  Aaron led the men into his living room with its floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the woods and the flag-stone patio with a gas grill and green-patterned chair and chaise longues. The walnut flooring in the living room felt cold under Aaron’s bare feet and he was glad to step onto the large flax rug in the middle of the room. He motioned the detectives to a long cream sweep of couch in front of the windows while he sat on a stark black chair next to the huge stucco fireplace.

  “What can I do for you gentlemen?” Aaron asked, and realized he’d gone from sounding manly to chirpy.

  The detective called Myers said, “We’re here about Robert Eads.”

  Aaron felt himself flush. He tried to keep his expression casual, but there was nothing he could do about the rush of blood to his face. He swallowed, tried not to let his foot jitter the way it did when he was nervous, and said pleasantly, “Yes? What about him? I hope he’s not in any trouble.”

  “He’s dead,” Myers said flatly. “He was murdered night before last.”

  “Oh.” To his horror, Aaron felt himself smile. He couldn’t stop smiling. It was a nervous reaction, but a horrible one. They looked at him quizzically and he was afraid he was going to burst into laughter.

  “Robert Eads?” he finally croaked, trying desperately to get himself under control. “M-murdered?”

  “Yes,” Myers said slowly. Aaron noticed that although Myers’s remaining hair was mostly gray, the shadow of a black beard lay beneath his tanned skin. And his eyebrows were black. Coal black with a strong arch. What a stupid thing to notice. “We called you yesterday but got no answer.”

  “I attended a conference in Cleveland. I got caught behind a wreck coming home and didn’t arrive until around midnight. But why did you want to question me about Robert’s murder?”

  Myers looked at Aaron steadily, his dark eyes revealing absolutely no emotion. “We had reasons.”

  “Well, I assume so, but I didn’t even know Robert had been murdered until this minute!” Aaron heard his voice rising as if it belonged to someone else. He tried to swallow again, couldn’t, and insisted, “I didn’t know anything about . . . the tragedy.”

  Myers raised those arched black eyebrows. “You didn’t know?”

  “I . . . no . . . uh . . . when?”

  “When what?” Myers asked.

  “When was Robert murdered?”

  “We believe around thirty-six hours ago.”

  “Oh. Well, why am I just finding out?”

  Myers took on a patient tone. “Eads wasn’t found until yesterday morning. You said you were out of town all day yesterday.” He frowned. “But didn’t you hear it on the news?”

  “I didn’t listen to any news. Not in the car. Not when I came home. I just went straight to bed. No television.”

  “I see.” Myers paused, his dark gaze fixed intently on Aaron’s face. Finally he asked, “You knew Robert very well, didn’t you, Mr. Townsend?”

  Aaron abruptly became aware of his bare feet, which seemed like blocks of ice. In his silk robe and thin silk pajama bottoms, he felt naked and vulnerable in front of these two expressionless men, particularly Hal Myers with his thin lips, deeply creased forehead, and relentless stare. The man never seemed to blink.

  “Robert Eads worked for me for three years.” Aaron wondered if the detectives heard the slight tremor in his voice. “He quit around a month ago.”

  “Why?”

  “Uh . . . Robert was very ambitious. He thought he could do better elsewhere.”

  Myers frowned. “Townsend Realty is the biggest realty office in the city, and it’s my understanding he was doing well at your firm.”

  “He specialized in commercial property and he was quite successful.”

  “Then why did he quit?”

  Aaron cleared his throat. “I believe he wanted to open his own firm.”

  “I see.” Myers made a temple of his fingers and rested his chin on it. Aaron noticed the man’s wedding ring, which looked too small. He didn’t know this intimidating man in front of him had not taken off the ring once in his thirty-five years of marriage. Aaron also didn’t know that the detective had four children and seven grandchildren, all of whom called him Papa Bear because when he was with them, he acted like a huge, cuddly bear in the cartoons. “He didn’t come from a wealthy family, did he?”

  “Robert?” Aaron asked in surprise. “No. Why?”

  “Well, you said he’d only worked for you for three years. He was in his twenties, so he hadn’t had time to build up much savings. In fact, we’ve checked his bank accounts. They are surprisingly low considering the money he made with your firm. Perhaps he had some expensive habits. In any case, he couldn’t have qualified for the substantial loan a new agency would have required and his family couldn’t have given him the money, so it doesn’t seem as if he was going to open his own business. Was he going to work for someone else?”

  “Well, maybe. I really don’t know.” Aaron could feel perspiration on his face although the rest of his body was cold. “Detective, Robert Eads simply resigned from my firm saying he was going to open his own business. I don’t think quitting Townsend Realty with so little money was a good idea, but his loss was . . .” He started to say “my gain,” but that sounded awful. And suspicious. “. . . was his loss.”

  “But you said you thought he was going to open up his own firm.”

  “He said that to me one time. It stuck in my mind that he might surprise me with his talent and give me some real competition.” Aaron immediately thought of how bad that sounded and went to work repairing it. “I’m joking. Not about Robert’s death, of course.” Oh God, he thought, feeling as if he were in quicksand. W
hy couldn’t he say anything right? Aaron adopted a somber expression and vocal tone. “Gentlemen, it takes time to build a firm like Townsend and we have an excellent reputation. Even if Robert had the money and the talent to start his own business, he wouldn’t have been a threat to me. He didn’t have enough experience or contacts. He probably would have failed, which would have been sad. But he could be . . . overconfident.” Aaron paused. “Of course, perhaps he didn’t plan to open his own firm. He might just have been trying to impress me.”

  “So you really don’t know what he planned to do.”

  “No. I was simply his employer. Nothing more. We weren’t close friends.”

  “Really?” Myers asked slowly. “Because I’ve heard you were close friends. Very close.”

  Aaron felt as if all the air had been sucked out of him when Madeleine suddenly appeared in the living room, her face beautiful in the sunlight, her limp even more pronounced than usual, drawing the detectives’ attention and obviously their compassion, her voice soft and innocent. “Hello, gentlemen. I’m Madeleine Townsend, Aaron’s sister. I’ll bet he didn’t even offer you coffee, did he? Would anyone care for some? We have a pot of an excellent Malaysian blend.”

  Oh, thank you, Maddy, Aaron thought, feeling slightly dizzy. He knew she’d been listening just beyond the living room and heard, even felt, his tension. The detective called Corrigan smiled for the first time and Aaron realized he’d seen the man before, although he could not remember where. Reddish-brown curly hair, freckles, clear blue eyes . . .

  “No thank you, ma’am,” both detectives said.

  Myers continued, “We’ve both drunk more than our share of coffee this morning.” He smiled. “Did you know Robert Eads, Ms. Townsend?”

  “Barely. He worked for my brother. I met him at an agency Christmas party and an agency picnic.” She looked fondly at her brother. “Aaron gives the agency at least two parties a year. More if someone is getting married or is close to having a baby. He’s very good to his employees.”