Whiskey Beach Part 53

"There are cops swarming all over my grandmother's house. It's hard to shrug that off."

"Let it play out," Neal repeated. "Then close the door. If they push again, they're going to get slapped with a suit. Trust me, Eli, the bra.s.s doesn't want that-the wrangling or the publicity. They'll shut Wolfe down. Let me know when they're out of there."

"Sure."

Eli hung up. Maybe his superiors would shut Wolfe down, officially. But Eli didn't believe for a moment that would stop him.

Because of an emergency call for a grocery run due to a preschooler with strep, Abra arrived a bit later than she liked for her church-bas.e.m.e.nt yoga cla.s.s.

She dashed in. "Sorry! Natalie's kid's down with strep, and she needed some supplies. She won't make it to cla.s.s, obviously."

Even as she set down her mat, her tote, the vibes. .h.i.t her. She caught the speculative looks, and more, the furious flush on Maureen's face.

"Something up?" she said, casually enough, as she unzipped her hoodie.

"There's police-a lot of police-at Bluff House. Don't give me that look, Maureen," Heather snapped. "I didn't make it up. I saw them. I think they must be arresting Eli Landon for killing that poor man. And maybe for his wife, too."

"A bunch of police?" Abra repeated as calmly as possible.

"Oh, at least a dozen. Maybe more. I slowed down when I drove by, saw police going in and out."

"So you think they'd send a dozen, or more, cops to arrest one man? Did they bring in a SWAT team, too?"

"I understand you'd be defensive." Heather's voice dripped with sugary sympathy. "Considering your relations.h.i.+p."

"Are you considering that?"

"Well, for heaven's sake, Abra, it's not like you've been making a secret of it. People have seen your car parked there late at night or early in the morning."

"So wondering why it takes a platoon of cops to arrest one man-one, since I happened to be with him, I know didn't kill that poor man-is defensive because Eli and I are sleeping together?"

"I'm not criticizing you, honey."

"Oh, bulls.h.i.+t!" Maureen exploded. "You've been standing around here pretending to feel sorry for Abra while gleefully questioning her judgment. And you've already arrested, tried and convicted Eli without knowing d.i.c.k about squat."

"I'm not the one suspected of murder-twice-or with police in my house. I don't blame Abra, but-"

"Why don't you stop right there," Abra advised. "I don't blame you either, Heather, for gossiping or for jumping to conclusions about someone you don't even know. For now, let's consider this a no-blame area, and we can get started."

"All I did was say what I saw with my own eyes." And now those eyes brimmed with tears. "I have children. I'm allowed to be concerned we may have a murderer living right here in Whiskey Beach."

"We're all concerned." Greta Parrish patted Heather's shoulder. "Especially since we don't know who killed that detective from the city, or why. I think we're better off sticking together than we are pointing fingers."

"I wasn't pointing fingers. There are police at Bluff House. That PI was from Boston, where Eli Landon's from, and somebody shot him here, where Eli Landon is. I have every right to talk about it, and to be worried about my family."

Choking on tears, Heather grabbed her things and fled.

"Now she's the victim," Maureen sighed.

"Okay, Maureen. Okay." Abra drew a long breath. "Let's just clear the air. Heather's upset. Someone was killed. We're all upset and concerned. I know Eli wasn't responsible, because I was with him the night it happened. He can't be in two places at once. My personal life is my business unless I choose to share it. If anyone's uncomfortable with my personal choices, that's fine. If anyone wants to cancel their cla.s.ses with me, I'll issue refunds, no problem. Otherwise let's take seats on our mats for a minute, and breathe."

She unrolled her own mat, sat. When the others did the same, the fist clenched in her belly loosened a little.

Though she couldn't find her center, her balance, her own sense of calm, she took the cla.s.s through the hour.

Maureen lingered after the cla.s.s ended. Abra expected no less.

"Your place or mine?" Maureen asked.

"Mine. I have a cleaning job in an hour, I need to change."

"Good. You can give me a lift. I walked."

"Sundaes last night?"

"Toaster Strudel this morning. I shouldn't have them in the house, but I'm weak."

"Prepare to be weaker," Abra warned as they walked out together. "I made brownies."

"d.a.m.n you."

They piled into the car. "I'm trying to consider the source."

"The source is an idiot."

Abra sighed. "She can be, but so can we all."

"Idiot is Heather's default."

"No, gossiping is her default, and you and I both enjoy it from time to time. And occasionally between times. I'm also trying to remember she does have kids, and tends to be overprotective by my gauge. But I don't have kids."

"I do, and she's way over the top. She'd put GPS implants in her kids if she could get away with it. Don't sit there being tolerant and understanding. She crossed a line. Everybody, including her best bud, Winnie, knew it. Jesus, Abra, she was gloating about seeing police at Bluff House."

"I know it. I know it." Abra pulled up at the cottage with a squeal of brakes. "Most of the gloat was because she got to announce it, but there was plenty left over for Eli's misery. I'm not tolerant and understanding." She shoved out of the car, s.n.a.t.c.hed her bag, heaved the door shut. "I'm p.i.s.sed."

"Good. Me, too. Let's eat a whole bunch of brownies."

"I want to go down there," Abra said as they walked to the door. "But I'm afraid I'll just make it harder for him. And I want to go hunt down Heather and give her one good b.i.t.c.h slap, and that would only make me feel c.r.a.ppy after."

"Yeah, but it'd feel good doing it."

"It really would." Leaving her bag by the door, Abra walked straight to the kitchen, pulled the clear wrap off a plate of brownies.

"What if I b.i.t.c.h-slapped her and you just watched?" At home, Maureen grabbed napkins while Abra put on the kettle. "Would you still feel c.r.a.ppy?"

"Probably." Abra grabbed a brownie, bit in while she gestured with her free hand. "She thinks I'm lying about being with Eli when Duncan was killed. She had that 'You poor, deluded thing, I'm worried about you' look on her face."