“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 relationship.”
“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, bullshit!” 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 dick 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 classes 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 class through the hour.
Maureen lingered after the class 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.”
“Damn 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, snatched her bag, heaved the door shut. “I’m pissed.”