Read Online Last Whisper by Carlene Thompson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carlene Thompson
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there’s something sneaky about him.”
“Such as?” Vincent asked.
“He lurks. Or he gives the impression of lurking. I sound paranoid, but Jay has noticed it, too. And his wife Eunice is a real piece of work. Always playing off sick.”
“She
is
sick,” Brooke said. “Her diabetes is serious and her legs swell and she has migraines.”
“Honestly, you are such a soft touch for a sad story, Brooke.” Stacy shook her head. “Harry and Eunice are probably harmless, but I’ve always felt you need to keep an eye on them.”
“Which you do,” Brooke said. “I think Harry’s a little scared of you.”
“Good.” Stacy smiled. “Okay, you sit down, Brooke, and I’ll pack up a few things for you to take tonight, although I still think I should just stay here with you—”
“Stacy,” Brooke said warningly.
“Right. No more orders. Where’s your overnight bag?”
“On the top shelf of the bedroom closet.”
“Where I probably can’t reach it.”
Vincent headed toward what he thought was the bedroom. “I’ll get it. You’re tall, Stacy, but I have a few inches on you.”
“It’s tan with brown trim,” Brooke called. “More like a giant tote bag than a suitcase.” She looked at Stacy. “How could I remember that so clearly, but not Harry’s name?”
“Memory is a funny thing, and you’ve been through a hell of a night. Don’t worry about it,” Stacy said, giving Brooke a pat on the arm.
Within half an hour, Brooke had packed the bag, attached a leash to Elise’s collar, and reassured Stacy for the fifth time that the Lockhart house was where she really wanted to stay for the night. Tomorrow night, she would probably make other arrangements. Stacy walked the three of them to a cab and gave Brooke a quick kiss on the cheek. “If you get lonely or scared, call me. Don’t worry about waking up Jay. He could sleep through an earthquake.”
“Thanks, Stacy,” Brooke said with genuine warmth. “I’ll call you before noon tomorrow.”
Vincent and Brooke said little in the taxi on the way to the Lockhart house. Brooke still felt stunned by what had happened, and Vincent couldn’t think of one comforting thing to say in this situation. He had already called Sam to let him know that Brooke would be staying with them, and Sam greeted them at the front door wearing striped pajamas and a plaid robe turned inside out.
“Well, now isn’t this a pleasure!” he thundered as if Brooke had stopped by unexpectedly. Vincent winced. Sometimes his father acted as if everyone around him were half-deaf. “And I see you’ve brought your dog. Hello there, fella!”
“I told you we were bringing the dog,” Vincent said mildly.
Brooke nodded. “Her name is Elise. She’s house-trained. She shouldn’t be any trouble. I appreciate you letting me bring her.”
“Why, honey, we always kept at least one dog until . . .” Sam looked blank. Until Mom died and her dog died one week later, Vincent thought. “Anyway, I’ve always had a waywith dogs,” Sam went on, “although this one seems a mite shy.”
“She spent her first few weeks in a dog pound,” Brooke said. “I think it frightened her for life.”
“Well, no wonder!” Sam stooped, his knees creaking and popping, and stroked Elise on her sleek head. “She’s a good dog, though. I can see it in her eyes. She’s smart. And nice. And she loves her mistress. Who could blame her for that?” Brooke smiled. “How about some sardines and beer, Brooke?”
“She might prefer a glass of wine,” Vincent said quickly, unable to picture Brooke wolfing down greasy sardines and beer like Sam did. “And maybe a sandwich.”
“I am a little hungry,” she said, almost shyly. “I can’t remember the last time I ate. Elise hasn’t eaten, either.”
Sam peered past Brooke as a patrol car pulled up out front. “You fix everyone something to eat and I’ll go talk to the guys for a few minutes.” Sam could never pass up talking to
“Such as?” Vincent asked.
“He lurks. Or he gives the impression of lurking. I sound paranoid, but Jay has noticed it, too. And his wife Eunice is a real piece of work. Always playing off sick.”
“She
is
sick,” Brooke said. “Her diabetes is serious and her legs swell and she has migraines.”
“Honestly, you are such a soft touch for a sad story, Brooke.” Stacy shook her head. “Harry and Eunice are probably harmless, but I’ve always felt you need to keep an eye on them.”
“Which you do,” Brooke said. “I think Harry’s a little scared of you.”
“Good.” Stacy smiled. “Okay, you sit down, Brooke, and I’ll pack up a few things for you to take tonight, although I still think I should just stay here with you—”
“Stacy,” Brooke said warningly.
“Right. No more orders. Where’s your overnight bag?”
“On the top shelf of the bedroom closet.”
“Where I probably can’t reach it.”
Vincent headed toward what he thought was the bedroom. “I’ll get it. You’re tall, Stacy, but I have a few inches on you.”
“It’s tan with brown trim,” Brooke called. “More like a giant tote bag than a suitcase.” She looked at Stacy. “How could I remember that so clearly, but not Harry’s name?”
“Memory is a funny thing, and you’ve been through a hell of a night. Don’t worry about it,” Stacy said, giving Brooke a pat on the arm.
Within half an hour, Brooke had packed the bag, attached a leash to Elise’s collar, and reassured Stacy for the fifth time that the Lockhart house was where she really wanted to stay for the night. Tomorrow night, she would probably make other arrangements. Stacy walked the three of them to a cab and gave Brooke a quick kiss on the cheek. “If you get lonely or scared, call me. Don’t worry about waking up Jay. He could sleep through an earthquake.”
“Thanks, Stacy,” Brooke said with genuine warmth. “I’ll call you before noon tomorrow.”
Vincent and Brooke said little in the taxi on the way to the Lockhart house. Brooke still felt stunned by what had happened, and Vincent couldn’t think of one comforting thing to say in this situation. He had already called Sam to let him know that Brooke would be staying with them, and Sam greeted them at the front door wearing striped pajamas and a plaid robe turned inside out.
“Well, now isn’t this a pleasure!” he thundered as if Brooke had stopped by unexpectedly. Vincent winced. Sometimes his father acted as if everyone around him were half-deaf. “And I see you’ve brought your dog. Hello there, fella!”
“I told you we were bringing the dog,” Vincent said mildly.
Brooke nodded. “Her name is Elise. She’s house-trained. She shouldn’t be any trouble. I appreciate you letting me bring her.”
“Why, honey, we always kept at least one dog until . . .” Sam looked blank. Until Mom died and her dog died one week later, Vincent thought. “Anyway, I’ve always had a waywith dogs,” Sam went on, “although this one seems a mite shy.”
“She spent her first few weeks in a dog pound,” Brooke said. “I think it frightened her for life.”
“Well, no wonder!” Sam stooped, his knees creaking and popping, and stroked Elise on her sleek head. “She’s a good dog, though. I can see it in her eyes. She’s smart. And nice. And she loves her mistress. Who could blame her for that?” Brooke smiled. “How about some sardines and beer, Brooke?”
“She might prefer a glass of wine,” Vincent said quickly, unable to picture Brooke wolfing down greasy sardines and beer like Sam did. “And maybe a sandwich.”
“I am a little hungry,” she said, almost shyly. “I can’t remember the last time I ate. Elise hasn’t eaten, either.”
Sam peered past Brooke as a patrol car pulled up out front. “You fix everyone something to eat and I’ll go talk to the guys for a few minutes.” Sam could never pass up talking to
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