“No, I…” Wouldn’t feel fully safe if she didn’t lock up herself.
“Okay. I’ll get the kettle.”
When she’d finished, she found him pouring hot water into the squat teapot where she’d already measured out leaves.
“Lemon balm, right? My mother does the same thing some nights.”
“It’s relaxing.”
“I could use some relaxing.”
She got out a second cup, saucer. “Is your friend all right?”
“Not really.”
“Oh.” Instantly ashamed of her earlier annoyance, she turned. “He was hurt?”
“Not physically other than a fist to the face, but he’s had that before. He’s likely to again.”
In silence, she arranged the cups, the pot, the sugar bowl and spoons on the table. “You should sit down. You look very tired. We’ll have to share the tea strainer when it’s steeped. I only have one.”
“That’s fine.”
Unsure, she remained standing when he sat down. “Do you want food? I have the lasagna. It can be heated.”
“No. No, but thanks.”
“You’re so sad,” she blurted out.
“I guess that’s some of it. Got a lot of pissed off in there, too. I’ve got to shake both off before I deal with tomorrow.”
“Do you want to tell me, or should I change the subject?”
He smiled a little. “You should sit down, Abigail, and have your tea.”
“I don’t know if I’m good at this,” she said, as she sat.
“Drinking tea?”
“Comforting. Or defusing. Since you’re angry and sad, it should be both.”
He laid a hand over hers briefly, then poured out the tea. “Let’s find out. Russ’s family’s owned the hotel for three generations now. It’s not just a business, not just a livelihood, to them.”
“It’s an essential part of their family history, and their place in the community.”
“Yeah. There’s pride and love there. Justin Blake, have you heard of the Blakes?”
“Yes. They’re a very wealthy and influential local family.”
“Justin’s a spoiled, troublemaking fuckwit with a string of DUIs, a bad attitude. He’d have a sheet as long as my leg if his father didn’t use that money or influence, or political pressure—whatever works—to get him off. The kid has no respect for the law or any other damn thing.”
“It would be difficult to develop one if he’s allowed to behave badly with impunity. I’m sorry,” she said quickly, “I’m supposed to listen.”
“There’s no ‘supposed.’ Anyway, his latest. He and a couple of the assholes he hangs with booked the best suite at the hotel and trashed it. Destroyed it.”
“Why?”
“For kicks, out of boredom, because they could. Pick one.” Brooks shrugged, then scrubbed his hands over his face. “Russ went up this evening to deal with them when guests complained about the noise. Upshot is Justin punched him, took some swings at security, got himself arrested. And this time he won’t slide through. It’s looking like better than a hundred thousand in damages. Maybe more.”
