Chapter 30
Bobby ‘Bit’ Nowacki
“She's been in there for twenty minutes,” Bit whispered to Sylvie, who somehow managed to appear comfortable despite the circumstances. “How long does it take to make tea?”
“Have some patience,” Sylvie murmured, her eyes fixed on the window that overlooked the street.
The sheer curtains were parted just enough for Paula to have a great view of the homes across the way.
“Like I did when you took over twenty minutes deciding which kind of Twizzlers to buy at the convenience store.”
“You weren’t the one forced to witness the denture debacle, Little T,” Bit muttered, jostling his leg up and down.
“I was thinking that the Pull ‘n’ Peel might be best, but then I spotted the Nibs. I thought for sure that was the way to go, but then I saw they carried the Twizzlers Filled Twists. Maybe the filling would make them…well, less sticky.”
Bit raised the back of his hand to his mouth, unsure if his stomach contents would remain in place at the memory.
When he was certain that he’d steadied his body’s response, he glanced toward the kitchen archway where Paula had disappeared after adamantly refusing to accept their polite attempts to decline refreshments.
“Odd question, but did you steal my bag of powdered donuts?”
“No.” Sylvie adjusted her black-rimmed glasses after shooting him a sideways glance. “I did, however, eat the peanut butter cups out of the snack bag. Would you stop moving around? I’m going to slip off this plastic cover if you keep jostling your leg.”
“We're missing everything,” Bit complained, keeping his voice low. “Boss’ profile, the town's reaction. Isn’t that the whole point of this evening? Instead, we're getting high on Bengay and waiting for tea we won’t even drink.”
“Gerontophobia. That’s what you have,” Sylvie accused him with a roll of her blue eyes.
“I do not,” Bit immediately denied as he straightened his back. “I’m not afraid of old people, Little T.”
“Doth protest too much.”
Bit rolled his eyes at Sylvie’s attempt to distract him.
The convenience store gift basket they'd hastily assembled sat open on the coffee table. Unable to decide which kind of Twizzlers to buy, as Sylvie had already pointed out, he’d purchased all of them, along with assorted tea bags, a box of vanilla sandwich cookies, and some chocolate bars.
The only item Sylvie wouldn’t allow him to add was the Fixodent.
Fortunately, Paula had seemed genuinely touched by their gesture, which only amplified Bit's guilt about…
“Dentures.” Bit rubbed his upper teeth with his tongue. “Little T, I think I’m afraid of losing my teeth.”
Sylvie failed at covering up her smile, though he didn’t find anything funny about his newfound revelation.
The sound of shuffling footsteps and clinking China interrupted their exchange.
Bit sprang to his feet as Paula emerged through the kitchen archway, balancing a tea tray that looked way too heavy for her thin arms.
“Here,” Bit said as he took the tray from her. “Let me get this for you.”
“Manners. Rare these days,” Paula exclaimed as she followed close behind him. She directed him to the exact spot on the coffee table where she wanted the tray. “Not like those boys who deliver my groceries. They just drop the bags on the porch and run off before I can even get to the door.”
Bit reclaimed his seat on the couch, wincing when the plastic squeaked under his weight.
He didn’t even weigh that much. Paula lowered herself into a worn recliner positioned with a clear view of both the television and the front window.
The falling snow could no longer be considered flurries.
The thick flakes had increased in their intensity.
If he and Sylvie didn't leave soon, navigating back to town would become significantly more dangerous.
“Help yourselves,” Paula directed as she reached for the knitted blanket draped over the arm of her recliner. She arranged it across her lap, tucking the corners around her legs. “I’ll take two sugars, please.”
Sylvie didn’t waste time, reaching for the porcelain teapot.
“Two hands on the pot, dear,” Paula instructed, monitoring Sylvie’s actions with hawkish attention.
She followed the instructions as directed, holding the teapot with both hands as she poured steaming water over the tea bags in each of the three matching teacups.
“It’s heavier than it looks, isn’t it? Belonged to my mother, God rest her soul. ”
“It’s a beautiful set, Mrs. Stillman,” Sylvie replied as she added the requested amount of sugar to the older woman’s tea. “I have a special set that was handed down from my grandmother. I treasure it.”
“You have a brain, unlike that Mayor Fletcher.
I don't know what he was thinking, scheduling a town meeting after dark in January,” Paula complained, her voice carrying the distinctive quiver of advanced age yet maintaining a sharp edge of disapproval.
“Not everyone can drive in these conditions, you know. Some of us actually care about safety.”
“The roads are pretty slick,” Bit confirmed as Sylvie carefully handed Paula her tea. “You made the right decision staying inside.”
“Well, I certainly won't be voting for him next election, I can tell you that much. Not that my vote matters. He's been running unopposed since old Mayor Gunderson passed on. Heart attack while shoveling his driveway. I told him a thousand times to hire the Jefferson boy, but would he listen?”
Paula shook her head, her lips pursed in remembered frustration. She pinched the teabag’s string and began to dunk it over and over in the hot water. She then trained her gaze on Bit and Sylvie, ensuring that they had collected their own cups.
Bit caught Sylvie’s subtle signal. They needed to steer the conversation back to their investigation before Paula launched into an extended reminiscence about the previous mayor.
“Mrs. Stillman—”
“Those votes don’t count, anyway. The mayor will just do what he wants to do, and the rest of us will have to live with it.
” Paula released her hold on the teabag to wave her hand dismissively.
“You two don’t want to hear about all that nonsense, though.
Now, tell me why you’re here. I’ve already told you everything about Heather.
I consider myself sharp, but even I can admit that memories tend to fade the older we get. ”
Bit noticed how Sylvie deliberately positioned her own cup on the table without taking a sip. Brook had taught them never to consume anything in a witness's home. He didn’t doubt that Paula would notice the subtle rejection.
“When we spoke last week, you pointed out several times that nothing unusual happened in the neighborhood before Heather's murder. We’d like to ask you more about that.”
“Nothing unusual did happen. You’re not making sense,” Paula replied, still dipping her tea bag repeatedly as she stared at them. She then focused on Sylvie. “Did he tell you that Lindsay and Stephanie would visit Heather? Those girls could drink a sailor under the table.”
“Bit did share that with me,” Sylvie said as she picked up her tea and began to mimic Paula’s motions. “Did anyone else join in on those wine nights?”
Paula's lips turned downward in a distinctive elderly U-shape, the kind of expression that telegraphed disapproval without requiring words to accompany it.
“No. Those three were like the Three Musketeers. And you should know that Heather was a very private person. Not like some people on this street who need to broadcast every detail of their lives. The Hendersons had three different plumbers last month. Three! What do you suppose that's about?”
“Could you walk us through a typical day back then?” Sylvie prompted while taking an opportunity to nudge Bit when Paula took a tentative sip of her tea. Sylvie was indicating that Bit should pick up his cup. “We’re hoping to get a better picture of the neighborhood.”
“I don’t see why not,” Paula said as she settled back into her recliner, mindful of her hot beverage.
“Mail used to come at twelve after ten in the morning. Rain, shine, or blizzard. Joey—he was our mailman—was reliable that way. We now have Diane. She’ll come anywhere between ten and ten thirty.
Drives me crazy. UPS comes between two and four in the afternoon.
FedEx, four to six. And those vans? All hours, all days. No respect for routine.”
“ has an option for delivery at four to eight in the morning,” Bit offered up in defense of his favorite site. “In case you need something before you start your day.”
“I never thought of it like that,” Paula said with a frown. She eventually nodded, conceding that maybe those time slots weren’t such a bad idea. “I have one of those touch-screen phones. Do you think—”
“Bit would love to help you set up an account,” Sylvie offered, ignoring Bit’s glare. “In the meantime, what else happened regularly in the neighborhood back then?”
Paula took a satisfied sip of her tea, her gaze never leaving Bit's face. He couldn’t help but glance at her teeth when she flashed him a smile.
“Mrs. Henderson used to love to bake. Not so much anymore since her arthritis grew steadily worse. Anyway, she would bring Heather cookies on the first Monday of every month. Mr. Lattimore from the corner house would borrow eggs about once a week. That man can't seem to remember to buy them at the store. He knocks on Mrs. Henderson’s door now.” Paula shook her head in mild exasperation, as if he should have learned a long time ago to buy an additional carton.
“And that wedding photographer, Kyle Wheat.
He stopped by multiple times that month, discussing an anniversary party, I believe.
For her parents. Sadly, that celebration didn't happen, of course.”
“Kyle Wheat visited Heather?” Sylvie repeated with interest. “On multiple occasions, you said?”
“Yes, several times,” Paula confirmed, adjusting the blanket across her lap.
“I assumed Heather had specific requests for the photography job. Some people can be very particular about those things. My niece insisted on having all sepia-toned pictures at her wedding. Looked like they got married in the Dust Bowl, if you ask me.”
Bit was having trouble reconciling that Kyle Wheat had anything to do with the murders. While his connection to photography was indisputable, he didn't fit the profile.
“How many times would you say Mr. Wheat visited Heather?” Sylvie asked, her voice carefully neutral despite the significance of such a revelation.
“I don’t know why you’re overly interested in Kyle. He’s a sweet man. But to answer your question, I’d say at least three times. Always with his portfolio case, too. Very professional.”
Bit began to jostle his knee up and down as he mentally went through the profile again.
Brook had mentioned several times that she believed something was wrong with the initial draft.
What concerned him most was that Kyle and Faith Wheat had been at the town hall meeting when he and Sylvie had left the church.
“Mrs. Stillman, do you recall when Kyle married Faith?” Bit asked as a sinking sensation occurred in his stomach.
“My memory is quite good, but if you’re asking for a specific date, I don’t believe I know that,” Paula said somewhat defensively. “Kyle has photographed half the town over the years. School events, weddings, family portraits. He helped me put together my Harold's funeral program. Beautiful work.”
Bit caught Sylvie's attention, recognizing the same alarm he was experiencing at the connection. She slowly set her untouched teacup down on the coffee table.
“Do you recall if he was married when Heather was alive?”
“Oh, no. I think it was a year or two after her funeral that Kyle and Faith began to date. Everyone was so happy for them.”
Both Sylvie and Bit stood in unison, their abrupt movement causing Paula to blink in surprise.
“I'm so sorry, Mrs. Stillman,” Sylvie said, her voice gentle but urgent as she pulled on her coat. “We truly appreciate the tea and the conversation. You’ve been a tremendous help, but we really should get back to the town hall meeting.”
“It's the weather, isn't it?” Paula said with a nod of understanding. She leaned to the side and set her teacup on the small table next to her recliner. “The roads are getting slicker by the second. Let me pack some cookies for you to take—”
“No need, Mrs. Stillman,” Bit said, too quickly by the frown on her face. He softened his tone, adding, “But thank you. And I’ll stop by sometime tomorrow to help you set up an account and to answer any other questions you have regarding your phone.”
By this time, Bit had slid his arms into the sleeves of his jacket. Sylvie was already at the front door with her earmuffs in place. She twisted the knob, and they both braced for the frigid air.
“Be careful out there,” Paula called from behind them.
The snow was falling more heavily now, thick flakes swirling in the glow of the porch light. The street beyond was now a blank white canvas, unmarked by tire tracks or footprints. Not surprisingly, given that most of the residents were at the church.
“I’ll drive.” Sylvie held out her gloved hand as they walked side by side toward the van. “You reach out to Theo or Brook. Let them know that there is a very good chance Kyle Wheat is our unsub.”