"So, Heather never mentioned feeling uncomfortable around anyone in the weeks before her death?" Sylvie asked as she rested her fork against the edge of the plate. “No unwanted attention? Someone watching her house or following her?”
The diner's patrons made little effort to disguise their interest in her conversation with Heather Moore’s best friends. Sylvie had agreed to have breakfast with them in hopes of making them comfortable enough to be open about their recollections, but she was coming to regret the decision.
Lindsay Sharpe was in her late-thirties. Her dark hair was neatly styled, framing her sharp features and accentuating her green eyes. Since her husband’s recent promotion, she had transitioned to a substitute teaching position. She didn’t seem to mind all the stares from those sitting at the other tables and booths.
As for Stephanie Maddox, who preferred to go by Steph, she stood at an average height, her brown hair pulled back into a tidy ponytail that swung slightly with her movements. Clad in scrubs from her recent twelve-hour shift at the hospital, Sylvie couldn’t help but notice the way Steph would fidget with her watch when she was uncomfortable with certain questions.
“We’ve been over this.” Lindsay exchanged a quick glance with Steph before continuing with her response, almost as if she were making sure they both agreed on the answer. “If Heather had concerns, she would've told us.”
Throughout breakfast, the two women had maintained a united front, their answers complementing each other with the ease of long rehearsal. Lindsay always seemed to take the lead, while Steph's contributions were more deliberate.
“What about romantic interests?” Sylvie pressed, reaching for her tea now that she’d finished her omelet. “Someone who might have expressed feelings that weren't reciprocated?”
“Heather wasn't seeing anyone at the time,” Lindsay replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. “She was focused on her teaching. The kids meant everything to her.”
“Not even Figg Whitlow?”
“Figg?” Lindsay couldn’t suppress a laugh. “Figg likes his women busty, curvy, and with as little common sense as possible. Trust me when I say those two never even considered such a thing.”
“Everyone loved Heather,” Steph added as she pushed her plate away. “She was good with boundaries, too. If someone had crossed a line, she would have handled it.”
“And what about Brett Sorsdal?” Sylvie asked, recalling the name from Theo’s notes. He and Brook had uncovered quite a lot of information yesterday and this morning. “I understand her parents thought they might have had a connection.”
“Jillian always hoped they'd end up together.” Lindsay rolled her eyes as she took the time to finish her last bite of bacon. Once she had swallowed the food and was in the midst of wiping her fingers, she continued. “But Brett was never more than just a friend.”
Sylvie allowed a moment of silence to stretch between them, monitoring both women as they each reached for their drinks in tandem. The investigation was beginning to feel like trudging through deep snow, and each step taken seemed to require significant effort for minimal progress.
“I'd like to ask about something else that has come up in our investigation,” Sylvie said, changing topics as she set her teacup on the saucer. “I understand Heather had a regular Thursday night commitment. Would either of you know what that was?”
“That’s oddly specific,” Steph said with a frown.
“Let me guess.” Lindsay nudged Steph with her elbow. “You heard this from Paula, the busybody who lives across the street?”
“Remember how Heather used to complain about Paula knocking on her door when she was late putting out her trash bins?” Steph asked Lindsay with a fond smile at the recollection. “That woman had nothing better to do than monitor the neighborhood.”
“More like a self-appointed neighborhood surveillance system,” Lindsay said with a laugh. “Do you remember when she called the sheriff on us? She complained about—and I quote—‘excessive noise after nine p.m.’, all because the windows were still open when we cranked up one of our favorite songs.”
Lindsay and Steph shared a chuckle, but those faded as they seemed to realize they would never have those moments back. Heather was gone, their friendship altered, and nothing since had ever been the same.
Before Sylvie could pursue another line of questioning, the waitress approached their table, coffeepot in hand. Lindsay had mentioned the woman's name, Gina, almost immediately after taking a seat.
“Refill?”
Seeing as Lindsay and Steph were the only two drinking coffee, Sylvie remained silent while their mugs were topped off. Lindsay piped up and asked Gina how her daughter was liking high school, and the two of them caught up while Sylvie's attention was drawn to the counter.
A solitary figure occupied a stool on the end, though he hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. Desmond Brewer’s posture was too rigid to be casual, and his forearms were on the counter as he stared straight ahead. It was obvious from the angle of his chin that he’d been attempting to listen in on the conversation.
“…bring more hot water, if you’d like.”
“No, thank you,” Sylvie said with a small smile. She wanted to keep her attention focused on Desmond, but Gina was now blocking Sylvie’s view. “I’m good for now.”
“Alright,” Gina replied as she reached into her apron. “I went ahead and separated the meals onto three checks. If you want to add anything before you go, just let me know.”
“Thanks, Gina,” Lindsay said, reaching for the pink sugar packets. “Tell Chloe that we said hi.”
Gina walked away, though Sylvie didn’t miss the way the woman gave her a side eye of curiosity. She’d been hoping to hear something to share with the others, though Sylvie hadn’tasked anything out of the ordinary. Unfortunately, Lindsay and Steph hadn’t given any responses out of the ordinary, either.
“Paula Stillman might be overzealous,” Sylvie said, returning her attention to the women across from her, “but that doesn't mean her observations lack merit.”
