“I do not,” Bit immediately denied as he straightened his back. “I’m not afraid of old people, Little T.”
“Doth protest too much.”
Bit rolled his eyes at Sylvie’s attempt to distract him. The convenience store gift basket they'd hastily assembled sat open on the coffee table. Unable to decide which kind of Twizzlersto buy, as Sylvie had already pointed out, he’d purchased all of them, along with assorted tea bags, a box of vanilla sandwich cookies, and some chocolate bars. The only item Sylvie wouldn’t allow him to add was the Fixodent.
Fortunately, Paula had seemed genuinely touched by their gesture, which only amplified Bit's guilt about…
“Dentures.” Bit rubbed his upper teeth with his tongue. “Little T, I think I’m afraid of losing my teeth.”
Sylvie failed at covering up her smile, though he didn’t find anything funny about his newfound revelation. The sound of shuffling footsteps and clinking China interrupted their exchange. Bit sprang to his feet as Paula emerged through the kitchen archway, balancing a tea tray that looked way too heavy for her thin arms.
“Here,” Bit said as he took the tray from her. “Let me get this for you.”
“Manners. Rare these days,” Paula exclaimed as she followed close behind him. She directed him to the exact spot on the coffee table where she wanted the tray. “Not like those boys who deliver my groceries. They just drop the bags on the porch and run off before I can even get to the door.”
Bit reclaimed his seat on the couch, wincing when the plastic squeaked under his weight. He didn’t even weigh that much. Paula lowered herself into a worn recliner positioned with a clear view of both the television and the front window. The falling snow could no longer be considered flurries. The thick flakes had increased in their intensity. If he and Sylvie didn't leave soon, navigating back to town would become significantly more dangerous.
“Help yourselves,” Paula directed as she reached for the knitted blanket draped over the arm of her recliner. She arranged it across her lap, tucking the corners around her legs. “I’ll take two sugars, please.”
Sylvie didn’t waste time, reaching for the porcelain teapot.
“Two hands on the pot, dear,” Paula instructed, monitoring Sylvie’s actions with hawkish attention. She followed the instructions as directed, holding the teapot with both hands as she poured steaming water over the tea bags in each of the three matching teacups. “It’s heavier than it looks, isn’t it? Belonged to my mother, God rest her soul.”
“It’s a beautiful set, Mrs. Stillman,” Sylvie replied as she added the requested amount of sugar to the older woman’s tea. “I have a special set that was handed down from my grandmother. I treasure it.”
“You have a brain, unlike that Mayor Fletcher. I don't know what he was thinking, scheduling a town meeting after dark in January,” Paula complained, her voice carrying the distinctive quiver of advanced age yet maintaining a sharp edge of disapproval. “Not everyone can drive in these conditions, you know. Some of us actually care about safety.”
“The roads are pretty slick,” Bit confirmed as Sylvie carefully handed Paula her tea. “You made the right decision staying inside.”
“Well, I certainly won't be voting for him next election, I can tell you that much. Not that my vote matters. He's been running unopposed since old Mayor Gunderson passed on. Heart attack while shoveling his driveway. I told him a thousand times to hire the Jefferson boy, but would he listen?”
Paula shook her head, her lips pursed in remembered frustration. She pinched the teabag’s string and began to dunk it over and over in the hot water. She then trained her gaze on Bit and Sylvie, ensuring that they had collected their own cups.
Bit caught Sylvie’s subtle signal. They needed to steer the conversation back to their investigation before Paula launched into an extended reminiscence about the previous mayor.
“Mrs. Stillman?—”
“Those votes don’t count, anyway. The mayor will just do what he wants to do, and the rest of us will have to live with it.” Paula released her hold on the teabag to wave her hand dismissively. “You two don’t want to hear about all that nonsense, though. Now, tell me why you’re here. I’ve already told you everything about Heather. I consider myself sharp, but even I can admit that memories tend to fade the older we get.”
Bit noticed how Sylvie deliberately positioned her own cup on the table without taking a sip. Brook had taught them never to consume anything in a witness's home. He didn’t doubt that Paula would notice the subtle rejection.
“When we spoke last week, you pointed out several times that nothing unusual happened in the neighborhood before Heather's murder. We’d like to ask you more about that.”
“Nothing unusualdidhappen. You’re not making sense,” Paula replied, still dipping her tea bag repeatedly as she stared at them. She then focused on Sylvie. “Did he tell you that Lindsay and Stephanie would visit Heather? Those girls could drink a sailor under the table.”
“Bit did share that with me,” Sylvie said as she picked up her tea and began to mimic Paula’s motions. “Did anyone else join in on those wine nights?”
Paula's lips turned downward in a distinctive elderly U-shape, the kind of expression that telegraphed disapproval without requiring words to accompany it.
“No. Those three were like the Three Musketeers. And you should know that Heather was a very private person. Not like some people on this street who need to broadcast every detail of their lives. The Hendersons had three different plumbers last month. Three! What do you suppose that's about?”
“Could you walk us through a typical day back then?” Sylvie prompted while taking an opportunity to nudge Bit when Paula took a tentative sip of her tea. Sylvie was indicating that Bitshould pick up his cup. “We’re hoping to get a better picture of the neighborhood.”
“I don’t see why not,” Paula said as she settled back into her recliner, mindful of her hot beverage. “Mail used to come at twelve after ten in the morning. Rain, shine, or blizzard. Joey—he was our mailman—was reliable that way. We now have Diane. She’ll come anywhere between ten and ten thirty. Drives me crazy. UPS comes between two and four in the afternoon. FedEx, four to six. And those Amazon vans? All hours, all days. No respect for routine.”
“Amazon has an option for delivery at four to eight in the morning,” Bit offered up in defense of his favorite site. “In case you need something before you start your day.”
“I never thought of it like that,” Paula said with a frown. She eventually nodded, conceding that maybe those time slots weren’t such a bad idea. “I have one of those touch-screen phones. Do you think?—”
