“No. I can drive myself home, after we get back to the station.” I didn’t trust myself with him at my front door.
He nodded, and I sat down in the passenger seat. He slid behind the wheel and put the key in the ignition.
“Put your seat belt on.”
I fumbled for the strap in the dark and felt him reach across me, pull the strap out and click it home. Leaning into me, he took my chin in his hand and tilted my mouth toward him. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the soft warmth of his kiss, his tongue lightly circling my lips before pushing into my mouth. I reached around his neck to wind my fingers into the hair that curled around his collar.
A yellow gleam of light spilled across the hood of the car, as the back door of Manuel’s was thrown open.
“I don’t give a shit what you say, man. Fifty bucks says the Falcons will take the Saints this year.”
“You ain’t got fifty, you pork whacker.”
“Put it up. I’ll get it.”
“Shut the fuck up and go home. Shift starts at 6.”
We broke apart as the trash talking duo moved away from the bar and toward their own cars.
“Mmmm,” Bristol said. “Want to reconsider that drive home?”
“No,” I said as I tried to get my breathing under control. Those few minutes had taught me he was gentle and experienced. A deadly combination, if you weren’t ready for it, and I didn’t think I was. Quite yet. He had stirred up feelings that had been dormant for years, ever since I’d discovered what Charlie was really like. I hadn’t expected to feel that level of desire again. It was good to be wrong about that. But I wanted to have time to think this over, not just fall into bed with the first man who’d gotten my pulse racing. I wasn’t like Theo, wasn’t casual about sex. And Mike Bristol was obviously used to seducing, and probably, casually dropping women. That wasn’t what I wanted, despite what my body was trying to tell me.
“As you wish,” he said. “But this isn’t ending here.”
32
Rehabilitation
The sun streamed over my shoulder into Theo’s room, flashing off her glasses as she sat propped up in her bed after a long session of PT. She was alert and restless, peppering me with questions about what had happened during the many weeks before she woke up and finally left the hospital for this rehab center. The media interest had mostly died down in the interim, Sissy’s fancy lawyer having negotiated a plea that would keep her locked up and avoiding a trial and the possibility of a death sentence. All fine with me, as there would be no need for any testimony on my part or any awkward questions about my role in Sissy’s undoing. Flynn and I developed a schedule for visiting Theo, and together we moved her into her present location, where she’d stay until the doctors and therapists thought she could safely go back home.
The upscale red brick facility was situated in a neighborhood near Emory University. Inviting gardens and walking paths visible from the window wound through the grounds. Theo’s room was crammed with accoutrements for her comfort—lush pashmina throws, framed photos and a small oriental rug under the table in the corner, safely out of foot traffic. Cards, bouquets, and plants bearing Get Well messages smothered every horizontal surface. I surveyed the offerings Theo pointed out.
“That potted azalea is from Tom Boxer,” said Theo. “And look at that, from Freddie Somerset.” She pointed to a palm-sized rabbit, his back leg raised in an attempt to scratch behind one long ear. Carved from beach driftwood, the faded grey and brown bunny was amazingly realistic. An elaborate floral arrangement occupied pride of place on the table next to the couch. I leaned over to read the card.
“Is this from…my Lord, these are from Scot Raybourn,” I said.
“I know. Aren’t they gorgeous,” Theo enthused.
I made a mental note to call Scot and make it clear that it would be a good idea for him to keep Theo at arm’s length. He was a handsome man, full of life and troubled by demons—just her type. I shuddered to think of the complications if she decided to direct her considerable charms in his direction. I preferred never to see Scot again, hard enough to achieve in a small coastal community and impossible if he and Theo became an item.
Flynn pushed open the door with his shoulder. He balanced three Styrofoam cups in his hands.
“If there was ever proof that I loved you two, this is it. I can’t believe I’m drinking coffee from a vending machine.”
Flynn placed the coffee carefully on the tray in front of Theo, then pulled a chair to the other side of her bed so that he could look across at me.
“Ugh, this is nasty,” he said, taking a sip.
“It’s better than the swill we drank in the hospital,” I said. “Thank goodness we’re out of there.”
“We?” said Theo.
“Audrey might have just as well checked in and gotten her own room,” said Flynn, “she was there night and day.”
“I know,” said Theo. “I mean, I didn’t know at the time, but I do now. Thank you Annie, for staying with me. And you too, Flynn. I know you were there, too.”
“It was no big deal,” I said. “I’d have rather been with you than hanging out with the cops.”
“Even if one of said cops is the handsome Mike Bristol?” asked Flynn. “How is Beau Blue Eyes?”
Theo sat up. “Ooo, tell.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” I said. “The case is over. Forget about him.” I was trying not to think about him myself. Since that moment of weakness in the parking lot at Manuel’s Tavern, the memory of Mike Bristol’s kiss popped into my mind at the most inconvenient times. He’d called me and left voicemails that I’d ignored since that episode. I hadn’t heard from him in a while, and I’d been occupied attending PT sessions with Theo to keep up her spirits. Flynn’s question brought the memory back in sharp focus.
To divert Theo and myself from Mike Bristol, I asked her, “Are you feeling well enough to talk about what happened to you?”
I stared a warning at Flynn as I asked the question. The two of us had so far shielded Theo from the full details of Sissy’s confession, other than to let her know the police had arrested Sissy for Cutler’s murder. We agreed that she was entitled to know what we had found out about Cutler and George’s murder, but we had to tread carefully. The doctors had cautioned us that unnecessary stress would hinder Theo’s recovery.
“I can’t remember anything after driving to Cutler’s,” Theo said.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Flynn. “Just keep getting better.”
“I’m trying. Dr. Sinclair says I have to continue physical therapy to strengthen my arm.” Theo screwed up her face with distaste.
“That’s right, you do. How’re you going to pull on your panty hose with only one good hand?” Flynn said. He glanced over at me, both of us giddy with relief now that Theo was out of the woods and recovering.
Theo opened and closed her hands, spreading the fingers wide. “At least I can move everything. That’s better than a few weeks ago.”
“The doctors say you’ll get it all back,” I said. “If you do the exercises.”
Theo lifted her coffee carefully with both hands, before returning to Flynn’s question. “I hate having a blank place in my memory.”
Flynn and I both said, “It’s okay,” our voices cancelling each other out. Theo didn’t seem to hear us. She was talking more to herself than us.
“I think I remember a note from Sissy that said she wanted to talk. She said she’d meet me at Cutler’s,” Theo said.
I rushed to encourage her. “You’re right. She did leave you a note. I saw it, in fact.”
“I guess I should’ve figured something was wrong to begin with,” Theo continued.
Flynn rolled his eyes at this evidence of Theo’s unsuspecting nature. Before he could say something we’d regret, I shook my head to shush him.
“What made you decide to meet her?” I asked.
For a moment Theo didn’t answer. With a sigh she put her coffee cup down. “Because of George. Once I guessed that he’d probably been killed…” Theo trailed off.
“You thought Sissy had done it?”
“No.” Theo shook her head. “That never occurred to me. But I thought she might know something about it.”
“You were right about that,” I said. I summarized the whole thing to Theo.
“Oh, my God,” said Theo. “Will they be able to convict her?”
“I got her confession on tape when I confronted her,” I said. “Her lawyer realized that she was good and truly caught. She’ll plead guilty. The interesting thing is, since she’s been in custody, she won’t stop talking—she wants everyone to acknowledge how clever she is. I think she confessed to me because she was sick of hiding her formidable skills behind Cutler.”
“Formidable skills as a criminal mastermind, you mean?” asked Flynn.
“Well, yes.” I said.
“But why did she try to kill me?” asked Theo.
“She was afraid Cutler would tell you the truth,” I said.
Theo squirmed around in the pillows. “I thought it was because she hated me for sleeping with Cutler.”
“She says not,” I said.
“Hmmpf.” Theo looked away and waggled her fingers.
“You should be complimented.”
“How do you figure that?” Theo asked.
“Sissy was afraid that Cutler would confide in you because he’d fallen in love with you,” I said.
At that, Theo sat up and leaned forward. “I told you he wasn’t losing interest, didn’t I?”
Flynn laughed. “Baby girl, you sure did. I’ll never doubt your man-instincts again.”
“Make sure you don’t,” Theo said. She sat back on the pillows with an air of satisfaction.
“Let’s change the subject,” said Flynn. “Audrey, how did you figure out it was Sissy, instead of one of the other guys? Scot Raybourn and Tom Boxer both had good reason to want Cutler Mead dead.”
“For a long time I thought one of them had done it, but I couldn’t figure out why. There didn’t seem to be any crisis that would have triggered their killing him after all this time. There’s no evidence he was threatening to go public with what they’d done,” I said.
“What had they done?” Theo asked.
I shot Flynn a look of appeal. We hadn’t had an opportunity to share the tale of what had happened in Vietnam with Theo, what with her disappearance and then her loss of consciousness. It didn’t seem like a good idea now. This visit was meant to cheer Theo up, not make her miserable.
“Just more of the same stuff,” Flynn said, stomping firmly on my slipup.
“Oh, that,” Theo said. “And don’t forget, it was Sissy who pointed to them in the first place. She was trying to send you off on a false trail.”
“Good point,” said Flynn. “But, Annie, what made you think she killed him?”
“The sweetener.”
“What?” Theo and Flynn said together.
For a second or two, I enjoyed their expressions. Flynn frowning and Theo’s eyes stretched wide open.
“Oh, come on, Audrey. Tell,” said Flynn, sounding like his sixth grade self.
“Okay, okay,” I said. “When I had lunch with Sissy at the Swan House, she made a point of asking the waiter for Splenda sweetener for her tea. It comes in little yellow envelopes. The restaurant only had the pink or blue kind.”
Flynn and Theo looked puzzled, so I explained, “Splenda’s a new brand. It only came out in the US this year, and lots of places don’t have it yet. Sissy likes it so much she carries it in her purse. I noticed empty yellow packets on the floor of the crime scene, in Cutler’s Atlanta house. Theo doesn’t drink coffee in the afternoon, and she told me Cutler drank his black. Sissy had to run out of there in a hurry, to get back to the committee meeting that was her alibi, and she overlooked them.”
“My God,” Flynn said. “You went to see a madwoman because of her sweetener addiction?”
“It was a workable theory,” I said.
“Pretty circumstantial,” Flynn said, giving me a critical look.
“A bit more than that,” I said. “I noticed at the Swan House lunch that after Sissy used one of those little yellow envelopes, she’d fold it lengthwise and then twist it. I think it was a nervous habit. She didn’t even realize she was doing it. Those twists were on the floor in Cutler’s study.”
Theo clapped her hands. “Great work, Annie.”
“You should have called me,” Flynn said. “I would have come with you.”
“You’re absolutely right,” I said. “I’ll never go to a suspected murderer’s condo alone, from now on.”
I swung my feet off the couch to the floor and stood up, leaning over the bed to give Theo a hug. “I’ll see you tomorrow, hon.”
“Bring chocolate.”
Flynn followed me into the hall. When Theo’s door was closed, he reached out and grabbed my arm.
“That woman could have killed you.”
“I know. She wanted to. I got lucky.” I had spent a lot of time thinking about that as I sat at Theo’s bedside. I’d had a narrow escape, and sometimes I woke up in the middle of the night in a sweat, dreaming that Sissy had fired that gun and Scot Raybourn hadn’t been there.
“What did Bristol say about this whole incident?”
I winced. “It would be an understatement to say Mike wasn’t thrilled.”
“Mike? He’s Mike, now?” Flynn took a step back and raised both arms out to his side with his hands palms up.
“Don’t be so dramatic. I told him he could call me Ann Audrey, and after all this, it seemed a bit formal to keep saying ‘Detective Bristol.’”
“I’ll give you a pass for now, but I’ll be paying attention.”
“You do that.” If my brief experiment—one kiss didn’t justify calling it anything more—with Bristol was already over, I didn’t want to give Flynn any ammunition. He’d be lecturing me about my fear of relationships, and more. I didn’t need that.
“You’re still not telling me something,” Flynn said. “Not just about Mike Bristol. What are you going to do about what those guys did in Vietnam?”
“Nothing.” I’d pretty much made that decision when I’d let Scot walk out of Sissy’s condo with his gun, probably now at the bottom of the Chattahoochee River. I had some regrets—those guys had done unforgiveable things in Vietnam—but I’d nailed Cutler’s and George Humphries’s killer and saved Theo. That was my mission, and I’d have to live with my actions.
“Are you kidding?”
“There’s no proof, Flynn. I’m through battling dragons. Theo’s safe, and I’m going back to my quiet life in my nice, cool, air-conditioned condo.”
“Believe that if you can—everybody in Georgia knows you solved this case. Mike Bristol even thanked you publicly for your assistance. Your days of seclusion are gone. There’re people out there you could help.”
We hugged each other goodbye in the lobby of the rehab center, and I went out to my parked car to drive home. Theo would be leaving this place soon, and I’d help her get settled. By then fall would be almost upon us. My favorite time of the year, less humidity giving Atlantans pure blue skies, the spread of green that I saw from my windows turning gradually into red and orange as the season spread from the north Georgia mountains down to the leafy canopy in the city. Change was coming. I was ready for it.
THANK YOU
I’m very grateful that you spent time reading about Ann Audrey and her two best friends, Theo and Flynn. The best way to introduce other readers to the Ann Audrey mysteries is through honest reader reviews. If you enjoyed this story, please click here and leave a review. And, keep reading for
a preview of the next mystery in the Ann Audrey series, Death with Sweet Tea, available in May 2022.
DEATH with SWEET TEA
The Second Ann Audrey Mystery
At Flynn’s request, Ann Audrey looks into a family’s suspicion and uncovers a murderer—but her snooping may trigger the murderer to strike again…
The four of us sat over salads and iced tea while I counted the ways Flynn could be made to pay me back for the loss of this hour and a half from my life, never to be recovered. He had prevailed upon me to have lunch with his so-called aunts, really his distant cousins. The ladies advertised the worst of every stereotype of Southern women, incessant chatting, raucous hoots of laughter, frequent shrieks of denial—“He didn’t really say that!”—all warbled in an ear-quivering south Georgia accent. I opened my eyes wide and raised both eyebrows at Flynn to signal my torture.
“They’re nervous,” Flynn whispered, pretending to pick some lint from my cardigan to disguise why he was leaning so close to my ear.
“How can you tell?” I said. Like him, I kept my voice to a murmur so that the sisters couldn’t hear what I was saying.
Maribelle, the older sister, was lean, her dry complexion a labyrinth of wrinkles, eyes deeply set and tired with the kind of weariness that a long-time illness causes. Her thin grey hair was cut in a neat pageboy. The younger sister, Druyce, was plump, hair professionally colored a golden blonde that emphasized her bright pink lipstick, ever so slightly bleeding outside her lip line.
“We shouldn’t keep telling family tales in public,” said Maribelle.
“I don’t know why,” said Druyce. “Flynn’s family, isn’t he?”
“Second cousin, I think,” said Flynn. “On Momma’s side.”
“That’s right,” nodded Maribelle, with authority. “But let’s not bore Ann Audrey. She’s wondering why you dragged her to lunch with a couple of old ladies.”
“No, no,” I said, as etiquette demanded. “It isn’t every day that I get treated to lunch at my favorite restaurant. I’m happy to enjoy the food and the company.” The rhythm of this get-together was familiar. I had sat through many such meetings when I practiced law, waiting out the new client until they could bring themselves to talk about the real reason for the consultation. While I waited, I enjoyed the view.
Whipped Cream and Piano Wire Page 22