Chapter 23
Brooke
Brooke arrived at the coffee shop at five to start prep. Becky came in thirty minutes later.
“Are you okay?” Becky said, gesturing to Brooke’s bandage and bruises.
“I’ll live.”
“You should’ve taken today off.”
“Probably,” Brooke agreed. “But I need to be here today. Staying home will drive me crazy. I called in one of our part-timers to help out. She’ll be in at eight. Then I can take it easy if need be.”
“Good plan,” Becky agreed.
By seven, when they unlocked the doors, a line had already formed outside.
Rare for a Monday. Rare for any day.
The first customer through the door was Livi Beckett, who usually came in on Wednesdays on her way back from yoga. She exclaimed about Brooke’s injuries as she ordered a sugar-free vanilla latte with oat milk, paid, then lingered at the counter instead of moving to the pickup area.
“Terrible about Monique Stanton,” Livi said, her voice pitched just loud enough to carry. “Did you know her?”
“Not well.” Brooke kept her tone casual as she rang up the next customer.
“They say she went to school with that mechanic, the one who was at Gina’s yesterday when the deputies came. Heard you were there too.”
Brooke’s hands paused on the register. How did Livi know Tyler had been at Gina’s house? The answer came immediately: small town. Someone had seen the patrol cars. Someone always saw everything. She loved living in Irma, but some days . . .
“Tyler Gillis,” Livi continued. “Poor man lost his wife and child in that fire years back. I didn’t live here then, but my friend Rachael did. Now two women from his past turn up dead right after he comes home. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”
“Medium coffee, black,” Brooke said to the next customer, ignoring Livi entirely.
The morning only got worse from there.
Every customer seemed to have an opinion about Tyler, about the murders, about Brooke’s involvement. Some were subtle—meaningful looks, careful pauses in conversation. Others were direct.
“You need to be careful,” Mr. Landers said when he picked up his order, a caramel breve extra hot. “A man like that, with his history . . . ”
“I appreciate your concern,” Brooke said, her jaw tight.
“Just saying. You were friends with that lawyer girl, too, weren’t you? The one who got herself mixed up in all that trouble?”
“Have a nice day, Mr. Landers.”
Between customers, Brooke stepped into the kitchen and pulled out her phone. Three texts to Tyler last night. Two this morning. No response.
He’d tried to call her last night, but she’d been napping.
Who was she kidding? She wasn’t napping.
But she was in the bedroom and had left her phone in the living room with the ringer silenced.
She needed time away from everything. Time to think.
When she’d seen the missed call, she’d tried him. Twice. Both went to voicemail.
Gina had texted around seven: I heard what happened!! Tyler left the station around 6. Not arrested. Just questioned.
So, he was free. He was out there somewhere, not in a cell, not being held.
Just not answering her. She’d texted Gina back, letting her know she was calling a rideshare and going home.
She was well enough to be on her own. And it was true.
On top of that, she couldn’t handle the idea of discussing what happened with Gina or anyone at that moment. She needed to be alone. To process.
If Gina was right, Tyler had left the station fifteen hours earlier, and she still hadn’t heard a peep out of him. What did that mean? Brooke typed another message: Please call me. I need to know you’re okay.
She hit send and shoved the phone back into her pocket.
“Brooke?” Becky appeared beside her. “You’ve got someone asking for you.”
Tyler? “Who is it?”
“Your reporter friend. Joe Monroe. Says he needs to talk to you. Said he’s going around to the alley.” Becky gave her a look that Brooke couldn’t quite interpret.
“Thanks.”
Brooke found Joe standing next to her car.
“Hey.” Joe nodded when he saw her. “Ouch. That looks like it hurts.”
“Some.” That was a flat-out lie. Her entire body ached. She should’ve stayed home, stayed in bed and let herself heal. Let herself cry.
“Thanks for coming out.”
“I can’t stay long. We’re slammed.”
“I noticed. Thought about sitting out front, but your place is a zoo. Good to have the business, I guess.”
She frowned. “Do you know why it’s so busy?”
“Monique,” Joe said.
“Yeah. And Tyler and me and . . . ” She sighed.
“I’ve been looking into it . . . the story, I mean, ever since it came over the scanner yesterday morning that there was another body. Then, when I heard it was Monique, I did some digging.” He flipped open his notebook.
“You knew Monique?”
“Some. Met her when she was with Sheila once.”
“I didn’t know you knew Sheila.”
He smiled. “Everyone knew Sheila. But listen, there are things you should know.”
Brooke’s stomach tightened. “What things?”
“Connections. Timeline. Evidence.” Joe’s expression was serious, his usual easy demeanor replaced by something harder. This was Joe the journalist, not Joe her friend.
“Both victims grew up here, graduated the same year. Both were part of the same social circle back in high school and now. Both knew Tyler.”
“Lots of people knew them. It’s a small town. You just admitted to knowing them.”
“True. But here’s what makes it different.” Joe pulled out his phone, scrolled, and then turned the screen toward her. “Sheila was last seen leaving the bank where she worked. On a Friday night, around six. Security footage shows Tyler using the ATM at approximately the same time.”
“He told me about that. He was getting cash for darts.”
“Did he go to darts that night?”
Brooke opened her mouth, then closed it. He’d told her he’d gone to play darts. He did every Friday night except for the most recent. She thought he was going, that’s why she’d made plans with Steph, but he didn’t.
She’d silenced her phone during the play but noticed he’d sent her a text saying he hoped she was having fun. He was watching a rerun on television, and he’d touch base with her after he finished work on Saturday.
“I checked with the pub,” Joe continued. “The Watering Hole, where the dart league plays. Tyler wasn’t there that Friday. In fact, no one was playing darts that night. They play on Thursday nights.”
The words landed heavily. Tyler had said he went to the pub for darts. That’s why he needed cash from the ATM. But if he hadn’t gone . . .
“Maybe he played somewhere else,” Brooke said, hearing how weak it sounded.
“Maybe.” Joe’s tone suggested he didn’t believe it, but he wrote something in his notebook anyway. “Monique was last seen on Friday at work. Do you know where she worked?”
“Of course. She worked at her aunt’s place. They sell yarn and other craft stuff.”
“Yeah. The one where they invite people in for sewing circles and such.”
“I think she’s a knitter, maybe.”
“Both knitting and crochet. Monique was the only full-time employee. Do you know where the place is?”
“Sure, it’s . . . ” Her breath caught. She met Joe’s eyes and shook her head. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps not, but it is interesting that the craft store is so close to the auto shop where Tyler works, wouldn’t you agree?”
“What makes them think there’s a connection between Monique and Sheila?”
“Preliminary results show Monique died in much the same manner as Sheila. And she was dumped in the woods after she was killed.”
Brooke’s stomach turned as she remembered that day on the mountain and finding Sheila’s body. “Was she buried in a bear cache?”
“Monique was found closer to town. Right at the edge of the national forest.”
“Sort of the same as Sheila.”
“They were both strangled.”
“I didn’t know that was how Sheila died. I never thought . . . I guess with finding her the way . . . um, with the bear.” She paused and took a breath. “How do you know this? I don’t remember reading anything about how Sheila actually died.”
He pointed at his chest. “Professional journalist, remember? I have sources.”
“But you didn’t report on how Sheila died?”
“I was asked not to. Even telling you these things is a breach of ethics. I should’ve learned my lesson before, but I’m worried about you, Brooke.”
She pressed her lips together, her brow tightening as she took in the worry written across his face. She wasn’t sure what he meant by learning his lesson before, and she could tell now wasn’t the time to ask. “I appreciate you telling me this. But really, Joe, Tyler is innocent.”
“He may well be, but you have to admit some things don’t fully line up. I’m sure you can understand how the sheriff’s department is focused on him.”
“The sheriff’s department or Adam Boverman? You know he’s been harassing Tyler, right? Harassing me, too, in a way.”
“It’s not just him now. Edi Reeves is now considered a witness since she was at the bank with both Tyler and Sheila.”
“Now considered? Why wasn’t she a witness when they were accusing Tyler of Sheila’s death?”
“She was, but you know the situation with Edi.” He raised an eyebrow and gave her a pointed look.
Brooke rolled her eyes. There’d been rumors of nepotism when Edi was first brought onto the sheriff’s department. Her uncle was the outgoing sheriff, a man who had held the position for a dozen years but chose not to run for reelection. Instead, he ran for and won a state senate seat.
He still held that office, and there were rumors he planned to run for US senator or representative in the next election. Possibly even governor. His ambition was well known, and many believed Edi advanced by riding on his coattails.
Brooke didn’t know much about the inner workings of the sheriff’s department, but she had always liked Edi as a person. She was friendly and seemed to go out of her way to help people. She was a little awkward, but Brooke always assumed that was partly because of her size, tall and big-boned.