Page 91 of Skin and Bones

“Thanks for meeting me on such short notice,” I said, returning his smile with one I hoped looked authentic while my skin crawled from his touch. “It’s been a crazy few days.”

“So I’ve heard,” he replied, settling into the chair across from me with the easy grace of a man accustomed to having the best seat in the house. “The whole island is buzzing about your adventure with Reynolds. You’re very brave.” His tone was light, but something in his eyes flickered—calculation, perhaps, or resentment. “My sister called me in near hysterics—she lives near Grimm Park, you know. Said she saw the whole thing on the news.”

He leaned forward, his expression a perfect mask of concern that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re lucky to be alive, Mabel. I’ve been worried about you ever since you and Hank came to my office. Civilians getting mixed up in police business…” He paused, his voice dropping to a confidential murmur. “It rarely ends well.”

The concern in his voice sounded genuine, but something in his eyes sent a warning shiver down my spine. Predators often play with their food before devouring it.

“I have good backup,” I said, thinking of my crew of armed senior citizens.

A waitress appeared with menus, and Brooks signaled her with a barely perceptible nod—the kind of subtle gesture that expected immediate attention and usually received it.

“We’ll both have the grilled grouper,” he said decisively, not bothering to check if that’s what I wanted. “And a bottle of the Sancerre.” He glanced at me with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Trust me, Mabel. You’ll love it.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something sharp enough to draw blood. Patrick had always insisted we try new things together, but he’d never dreamed of ordering for me. Even Dash, with all his take-charge attitude, had respected my choices enough to ask first. The small presumption spoke volumes about the man across from me.

“Actually,” I said, smiling sweetly at the waitress, who looked caught between two opposing forces, “I’ll have the crab claws and a glass of Moscato. That’s why I suggested this place, after all.”

Brooks’ expression flickered—a momentary tightening around the eyes that vanished so quickly I might have imagined it. But the temperature between us dropped ten degrees, the change as palpable as the gathering storm outside.

“Of course,” he said smoothly, a master at recovery. “How thoughtless of me.”

I took a sip of water, studying him over the rim of my glass. “You’re a man of many layers,” I said. “Prestigious law career, deep island connections…yet I hardly see you around. Charleston must keep you busy.” I kept my tone light, conversational, as if I were merely making small talk rather than fishing for information.

His eyes met mine, assessing. “I’ve found it’s better to let my work speak for itself rather than my presence. Besides, the island holds…complicated memories.”

Something flickered in his expression—a shadow that passed so quickly I might have imagined it. His smile remained firmly in place, but it didn’t quite match the sudden guardedness in his eyes.

“Complicated how?” I asked, treading carefully.

He toyed with the stem of his wine glass, his gaze drifting past me toward the harbor. For a moment, he seemed to be looking at something far beyond the water—something only he could see.

“You grow up here, you leave, you come back different,” he said finally. “Not everyone appreciates the change.” His focus returned to me, sharp and present. “Small towns have long memories, and not all of mine are pleasant. Keeping a low profile has served me well over the years.”

“I imagine things were especially complicated when you worked for the DA’s office,” I said, watching his reaction carefully.

“Different time, different place,” Brooks replied. “Small-town law enforcement was challenging to say the least.”

“Because of Sheriff Milton?” I ventured.

“Milton was just a symptom of a larger problem,” Brooks replied. “The whole system here was built on relationships rather than rules. Like I said…challenging.”

“I’ve heard some troubling things about the old cases,” I said, carefully watching his expression. “The Charleston Medical Examiner was just telling Dottie—you know Dottie Simmons?—that she’s been reviewing some of the autopsy reports from cases during Milton’s tenure. Apparently there were some inconsistencies that were overlooked. Looks like Milton had someone to do dirty work for him at the ME’s office.”

Brooks didn’t flinch, but something in his posture changed—a subtle tensing. “Like what?”

“In Elizabeth’s case, for one,” I said, taking another sip of wine to steady myself. “They’ve confirmed she was strangled before she went into the water. That throws Milton’s ruling of accidental drowning right out the window.” I watched his face carefully. “Turns out we’ve had an unsolved homicide on this island for almost thirty years.”

His expression remained carefully controlled, but I caught the slightest twitch at the corner of his eye. “So Sheriff Beckett is really digging into the evidence himself, not just delegating? Impressive dedication for a new arrival.”

“He’s nothing if not thorough,” I replied, watching the calculation behind his casual demeanor. “Seems determined to clean up every loose end Milton left behind, no matter how old.”

“Good for him,” Brooks said, though his tone didn’t match his words. “Closure is important.” He signaled the waitress for another glass of wine with a casual flick of his wrist. “Though I imagine not everyone appreciates having old wounds reopened.”

I nodded, waiting a beat before continuing. “They’ve found some interesting things. Like the watch, for instance.”

“The watch?” he repeated, his voice carefully neutral.

“Elizabeth’s gold watch. The one Clint Harrington gave her with the inscription about seeking truth.” I watched his face closely. “Odd thing is, someone went to a lot of trouble to have an exact replica made recently. Left it on my kitchen counter as a warning.”

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