“I’d like that very much, Mr. Brooks,” the attorney said. “It’s likely to be a very long night.”

The butler turned to Ali. “If you don’t mind, Ms. Reynolds, perhaps you would be so kind as to join me in the kitchen. I’ll bring your drink along.”

Not surprisingly, Dave Holman was the first to arrive. When the car came up the drive, Brooks hurried outside and brought Dave into the house through the garage.

“Goddamnit, Ali!” he exclaimed when he saw her. “When are you going to stop scaring me to death?” And then, without another word, he pulled her off her chair and gathered her into a smothering bear hug. Ali was surprised by how good it felt to have his arms around her and by how comfortable it was to lean into his shoulder.

“Is Friday the thirteenth over yet?” she asked.

Dave raised his hand behind her shoulder so he could get a look at his watch. “A long time ago,” he said.

“Great.”

In the meantime, Leland Brooks, the soul of discretion, busied himself at the counter, setting out cups, plates, and napkins. “How many officers do you think will be coming?” he asked.

“Several,” Dave said. “From several different jurisdictions.”

Brooks switched on the coffeepot and then turned to beam at them. “In that case,” he said, “I’ll make some more sandwiches. It’s a good thing I bought groceries tonight.”

The interviews with Ali were conducted in the kitchen while interviews with Arabella took place in the living room. A signed search warrant was produced. Brooks opened the trunk so they could retrieve Arabella’s computer. He also handed over a battered Hartmann briefcase.

Sometime after three, Ali saw a pair of uniformed officers lead a handcuffed Arabella outside and place her in the back of a waiting patrol car. As they held her head to keep her from bumping it, Dave Holman was there watching the procedure. So was Leland Brooks.

It’s probably the first time he’s ever watched her pull out of the driveway when he hasn’t held the door for her, Ali thought.

When Brooks returned to the kitchen a few minutes later, he kept his head averted and wiped at his eyes with the back of his sleeve. When he caught Ali watching him, he shrugged. “Time for a stiff upper lip,” he said.

A few minutes after that, Dave stuck his head in the door from the garage.

“Judge Macey is here,” he said. “He wants to know if the stuff that’s here in the garage is what you want loaded.”

“Yes, it is. Tell him I need to finish straightening up in here. I’ll be out to help him in a few minutes.”

“Don’t rush,” Dave said. “I can give him a hand.”

Brooks set off into the living room with a tray, gathering plates, napkins, cups, and saucers as he went. Ali followed him. When he came to the chair where he had deposited Arabella’s coat much earlier, he stopped and set down the tray. Then he picked up the coat and stood there for a long time, silently stroking the long, soft fur.

“You did the best you could for her,” Ali said.

Brooks shook his head. “I’m afraid my best wasn’t nearly good enough,” he said. “When Mrs. Ashcroft was dying, I told her-I promised her-that I’d see to it Miss Arabella was never locked up again. But you saw what just happened. They took her away in handcuffs. They’ve arrested her and are taking her to jail. One way or the other, she won’t be back. I’ve failed completely.”

“Arabella Ashcroft killed people,” Ali said. “She told me so herself. She’s a murderess, Mr. Brooks. You’ve looked after her for years. When you saw what was happening tonight, you made sure she had legal representation. What more could you have done?”

“I could have put her in the Rolls, turned on the engine, and locked her in the garage,” he said. “At least that way she wouldn’t be under arrest.”

“But you would be,” Ali said. “What good would that do? How many years of your life have you devoted to this woman, who deliberately tried to pin one of her own murders on you?”

Brooks sighed. “Too many to count,” he said.

“You’ve done enough for her,” Ali said. “Far more than most people would.”

“What I can’t understand is how she could be so devious,” he went on.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Ali said. “It’s tough to deal with people who never tell the truth. I should know,” she added wryly. “I was married to one of them. Besides, it’s clear that Arabella is mentally ill.”

But Ali’s comment did nothing to dissuade Brooks from his barrage of self-recrimination. “I always prided myself in knowing exactly what she was up to,” he said. “But now it turns out I was wrong-completely wrong. The guns in particular, Ms. Reynolds. I have no idea how she gained access to the combination for the safe. I hold myself entirely responsible for that. And as for poor Mr. Ashcroft. I gave Miss Arabella her medication that night before I ever left for Prescott. She should have been asleep until morning.”

“I believe Arabella Ashcroft learned to fake taking her medications a very long time ago,” Ali said. “Long before you came into the picture.”

He nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”

Out of long habit, he smoothed the coat and returned it to the back of a chair while Ali picked up the tray and carried it into the kitchen. There was a dishwasher there, but it seemed to get little use. Brooks relieved her of the tray and then set about washing up the delicate bone china in a sink full of hot, soapy water.

“Where will you go?” Ali asked. “What will you do?”

“For the time being, I’ll probably live in an apartment in Prescott. I’ll need to stay around here long enough to handle the sale of the house. It’s a shame. It was state-of-the-art when Mrs. Ashcroft had it built, but it’ll probably end up being sold as a tear down. The real estate agent advised me to leave it furnished while it’s being shown, but once it’s sold I’ll need to dispose of the contents-the furniture and the artwork, and the vehicles, as well. Once that’s all handled, I’ll stay long enough to see what happens to Miss Arabella. After that, I may do some traveling. I haven’t been back home to England-to Dorset-in decades, not since Mrs. Ashcroft sent me there to school. I’m sure it’s changed quite a lot.”

“What about money?” Ali asked.

“Oh, I’m fine as far as money is concerned,” Brooks said reassuringly. “That won’t be a problem. Before Mrs. Ashcroft died, she set up an annuity for me-a generous annuity. And then there’s my social security. Living here, I’ve had almost no expenses through the years, and I’ve been able to put aside most of what I’ve had coming in. It’s built up into quite a sizable nest egg.”

“And what about this house,” Ali asked. “You’ve lived here a long time. Won’t you mind leaving it?”

Brooks pulled his hands out of the dishwater, dried them on a towel, and looked around the room with its antiquated cabinetry and appliances. “I don’t think so,” he said at last. “I’m getting on in years, and taking care of this house has been a lot of work.”

A man Ali had never seen before came in from the garage. The newcomer came over to the sink, stood beside Brooks, and put a comforting arm around the butler’s shoulder. “Hey, Lee,” he said. “How’s it going?”

“Not too well,” Leland Brooks said, with an audible catch in his throat. “Not well at all.”

Something about the familiarity of the gesture and the way the men stood side by side in front of the sink told Ali more than she would have thought possible. Without another word being exchanged, she understood that they were far more than friends and that they had been together for years.

It was the same way Edie Larson knew things about people. She knew, too, that in his moment of grief, Leland Brooks deserved some privacy.

“I believe I’ll go see what Dave is doing,” Ali said. With that she abandoned the kitchen in favor of the garage, leaving the two men alone in the kitchen, but as she closed the door behind her, it seemed unlikely that either of them would notice.

CHAPTER 20

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