Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Harriet
Tilly Brogan’s house sits on a quiet corner of Oaktree Lane, a tidy ranch with yellow shutters and a swing set in the yard. Two bikes lie on their sides near the front steps—one with training wheels, one without.
I hesitate on the walkway. “Maybe we should’ve called first.”
Alexandru adjusts his gloves. “The unprepared are more honest.”
He has a point, I suppose. I step over a bike and knock.
The woman who answers wears nurse’s scrubs printed with cartoon penguins, and her brown hair is pulled into a neat ponytail. Her eyes flick nervously to Alexandru, then back to me. “Can I help you?”
“Tilly Brogan?” I ask.
“Yes?”
“I’m Harriet Morgan, and this is Alexandru Miramonte. We’re—we’re looking into what happened on Commerce Street this afternoon. The incident with Razor Johnny.”
She looks exhausted, and now her brother is in trouble. I feel bad for bothering her like this. “You’re reporters?”
“No, not reporters. My family owns Mrs. Morgan’s Curios, which is sort of near where it happened, and we were just down there…”
“Wait, you’re Granabelle’s granddaughter?”
“Yes. That’s my grandmother.”
“Love her reels.”
“She would be thrilled to hear that,” I say. “We heard Dooley was brought in for questioning, and we wanted to hear your side of things and see what was going on.”
She studies me for a long moment, wary.
She should be wary. The fact is, we’re here to see if her brother is somebody that Alexandru could maybe drain like a Capri Sun.
Uhhh. How is this my life?
“Well, if you really want to hear our side.” She steps back and motions us in. “Dooley is absolutely not guilty of killing anybody. And he never was. He’s got big dreams and a good heart and it’s just not in him.”
“You two are close?”
“Very.” She grabs a stuffed elephant and a child’s jacket off the couch. “Sorry about the mess. The kids are at my neighbor’s right now, but...”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” I say, settling onto the couch. “So was Dooley here this afternoon?”
“No, he was out on a walk. I know how that sounds, but you wouldn’t think it was weird if you knew him. He always hated to be confined, and suddenly he’s free from jail like that? He’s been wandering all over.”
“I can imagine,” I say.
Tilly perches on the edge of an armchair and looks up at Alexandru, who has remained standing.
“I’ll tell you this: Dooley doesn’t have it in him to kill.
He was innocent when they sent him away and he’s innocent now.
Why would he get out just to turn around and do another murder?
And with the same weapon? No way. This last week he’s been just—” Her voice catches.
“So happy. A kid in a candy store, trying all the foods he missed. The new video games. Roaming around the forest, fixing my car. And now…” She looks like she’s going to cry.
“So…he’s been free for a week?” I ask.
“Just over a week.” She picks at a loose thread on her scrubs. “You should see him with my kids. They play cards for hours on end. He has these big dreams to open another garage. Denny Cole hired him for some handyman work the other day. Denny never thought he was guilty.”
I nod. “Denny’s a good guy.”
Alexandru shifts his weight. No doubt tracking Tilly’s heartbeat, her breathing, and who knows what else with his mad skills.
“Do you know if Dooley was acquainted with the victim?” I ask. “Razor Johnny?”
“He doesn’t know him. Dooley wasn’t involved in that world.”
“Even when he was in prison?”
“No way. He never thought much of the Snag Tooth gang.” She lifts her gaze to mine. “I hope you believe me. And I hope you’ll tell people that. He’s a good guy. I know it looks bad.”
Clearly, she believes in her brother, but I think that’s pretty common for a family member. “If he didn’t do it, somebody needs to figure out who did,” I say.
“And fast,” she says.
Alexandru stands there looking out of place in the sweet little ranch house, expression unreadable.
What would be most helpful is for him to interview Dooley. It’s not as if he could look into Dooley’s mind or anything, but he can sense deception and fear, and all kinds of other emotions that are helpful in crime solving.
He’s a pretty good investigation partner, and I think he finds the investigations entertaining at times. A sort of Wordle for vampires.
Or more like one of those snuffle mats for dogs that makes them work for their food, actually.
There’s a knock at the door.
“Oh—finally.” Tilly hurries over and opens it.
Her neighbor, another tired-looking woman in scrubs, ushers in two small kids. “Sorry, Tilly. I’m running late.” Her eyes flick to Alexandru, and she freezes for a moment. “Um. Wow. Hi. Okay, see ya!” With that she’s gone.
Tilly sets a hand on her kids’ shoulders. “Simon and Kiki, this is Harriet, and this is, uh… Prince Miramonte.”
Simon is skinny and serious. Kiki is younger, dressed head to toe in a pink princess outfit. They both stare unblinkingly at Alexandru.
I smile. “Hi!”
Nothing.
“Where are your manners?” Tilly says. “Say hello to Prince Miramonte.”
The kids just stare.
“They’re usually not like this,” Tilly explains.
“It’s okay,” I say.
“Simple prey response,” Alexandru says.
I snort. “I don’t know when I’m going to get used to your European sense of dark humor, I really don’t!”
“Oh my goodness, like when they killed off that guy in Downton Abbey?” Tilly says.
Simon is glaring at Alexandru, now. Kiki clutches her wand with both fists.
“Why don’t you check the cookie jar?” Tilly tries. “One each.”
No reaction.
Kiki lifts her wand and gives Alexandru a shaky wave of the tip. “No, no, no.”
Alexandru gives her a strange smile. “It seems your weapon is inadequate.”
Tilly groans. “I don’t know what’s gotten into them—come on.” She steers them out of the room.
Once they’re gone, I exhale. “At least they’re not crying,” I whisper.
“They’re old enough to recognize that stillness is a superior response. It would at least give them a chance in the wild. Unlike a crying baby,” he adds with the utmost disdain.
“Seriously, dude, remember our talk about trying to fit in?”
“Oh, I remember it,” he says, bored.
He remembers, but he doesn’t care. That’s the part he’s not saying out loud.
Tilly returns, brushing stray glitter from her jeans. “I think they’re just tired.”
“Of course.” I smile. “Kids are unpredictable.”
Her phone chimes and she grabs it. “Dooley’s on his way back!” She tucks it away. “He’s probably pretty worn out.”
“We really would love to talk to him,” I say.
She leans back on the built-in buffet behind her. She’s not so sure if she wants us to stay.
“I need you to know, we really are interested in getting to the truth of things. I’m on this true crime forum and justice is a passion of mine.”
I can see the moment it clicks about James. “Right. Of course you would be.”
I can feel Alexandru’s gaze rivet to the side of my face, wondering what she’s talking about.
I haven’t told him how my little brother, James, disappeared twenty years ago.
The James thing makes people look at me differently, just like Tilly is doing right now. I’m the girl who left her brother alone in the playground at a time when the Cuyahoga Killer was snatching young kids. And then disappeared.
Everybody thinks the Cuyahoga Killer got him, and that he’s for sure dead now. I don’t believe it. I won’t.
People also say that my mania for bringing order to chaos, for organizing the world on spreadsheets and databases is another coping mechanism. Like if I can organize the world enough, I’ll find him.
I say, “I think justice should be everybody’s passion.”
“Of course,” she says too quickly. “Absolutely! Everybody should be interested in such things!” She glances toward the door. “It’s a good sign that they’re letting him come home, don’t you think?”
“I think it is,” I say. “Though to be honest, it could just mean that they don’t have enough evidence to hold him. Do you know if he called his lawyer?”
“I’m guessing that he did. He was slow to call one last time around and I think he’s learned his lesson.”
Tilly heads to the kitchen to check on the kids. A few minutes later, the door opens, and Dooley Brogan bursts in.