Out of nowhere, the kitchen door swung open with a rush of cold air, the sudden intrusion preventing Graham from commenting on her honesty or allowing her to finish her inquiry about his upcoming trip.
At first, she thought there might be another emergency with his mother. Elizabeth Elliott resided in the guest house on Graham’s estate, and she was seven months post-op from undergoing heart surgery. She’d recovered with the same imperious determination she applied to everything in life. Only it wasn’t Elizabeth who crossed the threshold as the scent of winter washed away the delicious coffee aroma that had dominated the space just seconds before.
“Arden?” Brook lowered her arms and turned in concern, though she remained close to Graham as her mind struggled fora reasonable explanation as to why one of her team members had entered the premises without invitation. “Arden, what are you…”
Brook let her query trail off as the answer suddenly made itself known. She lifted a hand to her mouth, not wanting Graham to witness her initial reaction after her mind finally connected the dots.
“Oh, dear,” Arden murmured as he shut the door behind him. He wore striped pajamas beneath his unbuttoned winter coat, the collar turned up against his neck as if he'd dressed in a hurry. His salt-and-pepper hair stood at odd angles, and his mustache—which normally carried a precise trim—appeared slightly unkempt in the dim light. “I didn't think anyone would be up at this hour.”
The older man, a former private detective, shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Despite his discomfort, there was something endearing about the way he clutched the upper part of his coat closed with one hand, as if trying to maintain some semblance of dignity while standing in Graham's kitchen in sleepwear.
Brook had always appreciated Arden's gentle presence at the office. He brought genuine sincerity to S&E Investigations, balancing her somewhat hard approach. He was a grandfather figure who kept actual hard candies in a jar on his desk and loathed using the office's digital filing system, preferring instead his meticulously organized paper records. His aversion to technology was matched only by his unwavering kindness, which made his current flustered state all the more comical.
“Is Elizabeth alright?” Brook asked after lowering her hand and reaching for Graham’s to encourage him to take a moment to think things through before responding.
“Yes, yes,” Arden replied with a vigorous nod. He averted his gaze when he realized Brook was standing in the kitchen wearingGraham’s t-shirt and little else. Arden's face flushed a deep crimson that spread from his neck to the tips of his ears. The reaction had nothing to do with the outside bitter temperatures, either.“Liz is just fine. She’s still asleep, but I wanted to make her a cup of her favorite tea before I left for work. She’s out of milk.”
“I wish I were still asleep,” Graham murmured behind her.
“Please, go ahead,” Brook insisted, squeezing Graham’s fingers in warning. She couldn’t remember a time when she heard anyone call Elizabeth by a nickname. “The milk is on the right-hand side of the refrigerator.”
Brook fought the urge to smile, which wasn’t usually that difficult for her. But the image of Elizabeth Elliott, with her designer wardrobe and socialite connections, with Arden was shockingly incongruous. The woman was the polar opposite of him, with his cardigan sweaters and fondness for outdated expressions. She also had to be at least ten years his senior, though Brook could hardly judge the age gap when she herself was close to twenty years younger than Graham.
“I’ll just grab a glass and?—”
“Go ahead and take the carton,” Brook hastily advised him without consulting Graham. He was still positioned behind her, his entire body rigid in his discomfort with the revelation about his mother's newfound personal life. “Lacy is due in a couple of hours, and she can add another carton to the list of groceries. Right, Graham?”
Arden had adjusted his coat with as much dignity as he could muster before closing the distance to the refrigerator. He moved with surprising quickness, collecting the milk carton and closing the door almost in one motion.
“Elizabeth is quite particular about her morning routine,” Arden said in an attempt to fill the silence. Brook bit the inside of her cheek in amusement when she detected vibrationsstemming from Graham’s chest. He was doing what he could to suppress his moan of reluctance to the conversation. “I was just hoping to start her day off right.”
Graham’s moan turned into a resounding groan.
“I’m sure Elizabeth will appreciate your thoughtfulness,” Brook quickly added to bring this awkward exchange to an end. “Please tell her good morning for us.”
By this time, Arden had retraced his steps back to the door. She closed her eyes briefly when he didn’t immediately leave the house, not picking up on her cues the way she would have liked.
“I almost forgot,” Arden said, reverting to his usual professional tone when their current situation was anything but. “You have that appointment with the Hartmans this morning at nine. About their daughter's case.”
“Thank you, Arden.”
He nodded, offered a small, slightly embarrassed smile, and slipped out the door. The coffeemaker sputtered its final drop right as the door closed, the machine’s timing perfect given the circumstances. She turned to face Graham, only to find that he had lifted his other hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. She patted his chest in reassurance, prompting him to finally speak, his voice a mixture of resignation and disbelief.
“I should have stayed in bed.”
3
Brooklyn Sloane
January 2026
Tuesday – 9:08am
“Mrs. Hartman,” Brook prompted gently after the silence had stretched a bit too long. “You mentioned you had something to show me?”
Typically, Arden gathered all the relevant details for such appointments, but Beth and Jared Hartman insisted on speaking directly to Brook. The only information they had provided was their names and their desire to find their daughter’s killer.It had been enough for Arden to request and receive the criminal reports so Brook wouldn’t have to enter the meeting blind.
Eleven years ago, their daughter had been strangled to death in her apartment. She’d been in her mid-twenties and employed at a local florist shop. Sadly, her killer had never been caught.
