“You sound like you’ve given it a lot of thought,” Elena said.
“I’ve always had an analytical mind.”Brenda couldn’t help the note of pride that crept into her voice.She remembered their long-ago rule—when one of them called, the other would invite her over.“But enough about these grisly matters.Would you like to come over?I can put the kettle on.”
“I’d love that.I need to talk to someone sensible right now.”
“Sensible is my middle name,” Brenda said dryly.“Come through the back door, I’ll be in the kitchen.”
They said their goodbyes, and Brenda set down the phone with a sense of satisfaction.Even in retirement, even at three in the morning, she remained needed, valued for her perspective and judgment.She closed her browser, abandoning TownCircle for now.Elena’s visit took precedence.
She moved from her office to the kitchen, her slippered feet whispering against the hardwood floors.The house was quiet around her.From a cabinet beside the sink, she retrieved her best teapot—a floral porcelain piece inherited from her grandmother—and two matching cups with saucers.Elena appreciated these small touches of civility, just as Brenda did.
As the kettle began to heat on the stove, Brenda arranged a plate of shortbread cookies she’d baked yesterday.Despite the hour, despite the circumstances that kept them both awake, Brenda felt a pleasant anticipation.These late-night conversations with Elena were among the few social interactions that didn’t leave her feeling drained or disappointed in humanity.
She moved to the back door, unlocking it for Elena’s arrival.Through the window, the night appeared still and peaceful, betraying nothing of the turmoil that had gripped Trentville in recent days.Brenda found herself wondering what color yarn the killer would choose next, what vice they sought to punish with their twisted moral justice.
The kettle’s whistle pulled her from these morbid thoughts.She prepared the tea, adding just the right amount of dried chamomile to the pot, pouring the water at precisely the right temperature.Everything had its proper procedure, its correct method.That was what the younger generation failed to understand—the importance of rules, of order, of righteous judgment.
Brenda carried the tea tray to the small table in the breakfast nook that adjoined the kitchen, arranging the cups and saucers properly.Then she settled into a chair to wait, ears attuned for the sound of Elena’s footsteps on the back porch.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
As Elena Bowers stood at her back door, she glanced one final time at the contents of her big handbag.The white yarn was inside and so was the cord that was going to serve as a murder weapon.Her scissors and gloves were nestled next to the yarn.Everything she needed to cleanse Trentville of one more toxic presence.
She stepped outside, closing the door softly behind her.The September air carried an invigorating crispness.Her footsteps fell silently as she cut through her backyard.
“I’m doing this for you too, Sophie,” she whispered to the empty air, hoping her sister would hear, wherever she was.“Carrying on your work in my own way, using the yarn you left behind.”
A memory surfaced with painful clarity—Sophie sitting cross-legged on their parents’ couch, needles clicking rhythmically as a blue scarf took shape in her lap.Her voice soft but animated as she explained her philosophy to Elena, who’d been half-listening.
“When I make something for someone in Trentville, I’m weaving them into a bigger pattern,” Sophie had said.“Like we’re all part of one big garment, you know?All these individual threads coming together to make something beautiful and strong.”
Back then, Elena had smiled indulgently, thinking her sister’s words a poetic but meaningless metaphor.Now she understood the profound truth Sophie had grasped—that communities were fragile fabrics, easily torn by those who pulled too hard in their own direction, who refused to blend harmoniously with the whole.
Elena couldn’t change the past, couldn’t go back and stop the beautiful, generous Sophie from taking her own life.But she could honor her memory by protecting the community her sister had loved, by removing the elements that threatened to tear apart its delicate social fabric.
Derek Sullivan with his drunken rages, disrupting the peace, spreading chaos wherever he stumbled.Amanda Hartford with her bitter envy, poisoning relationships, undermining others’ success.They were damaged threads, creating holes that threatened to unravel everything.
Those two had been hard in some ways and chaotic.Derek's drunken state had made him unpredictable, his strength requiring Elena to rely on the element of surprise and her years of physical training.Amanda's simmering resentment had manifested as a wild, desperate struggle once she'd understood what was happening.
But Brenda would be easier.She lacked the physical strength to pose any real challenge.More importantly, she trusted Elena implicitly—the reliable Community Center director, the neighbor who had always listened patiently to Brenda’s complaints about the declining standards in Trentville.
Elena’s hand drifted to her handbag, enjoying the comfort of having that yarn inside.White for self-righteousness.The color had come to her immediately when she’d added Brenda to her list—pristine, untainted in appearance, yet concealing a coldness like frost.
She moved on into Brenda’s immaculate yard—flower beds laid out in perfect rectangles, grass cut to precisely the same height throughout, not a fallen leaf or stray twig in sight.Even nature bent to Brenda’s need for control.And TownCircle operated under the same philosophy, with Brenda determining which voices deserved amplification and which should be silenced, all under the guise of “community standards.”
Having tea together tonight was the perfect opportunity.No need to stalk through darkened streets or pick locks in the dead of night.This meeting wouldn’t appear on any schedule.Just a quiet conversation between neighbors that would end with Trentville liberated from its most divisive influence.Of course Elena would be gone as if she’d never been there, eventually to be as shocked at the news as anyone else in town.
Through the kitchen window, she could see Brenda moving about.Then the patio light clicked on suddenly, illuminating the final stretch of yard leading to Brenda’s back door.Elena didn’t flinch or duck away.She was expected, after all.She smoothed her expression into one of pleasant anticipation as she approached the house, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder.
She saw that the back door was slightly ajar and nudged it open.The kitchen welcomed her with familiar scents—Earl Grey tea, butter cookies baking in the oven.Everything precisely as expected.Perfect.
“Brenda?”Elena called, infusing her voice with the warmth of friendship.“It’s me.”
“I’m in the breakfast nook,” Brenda’s voice floated back, cheerful in a way few in Trentville ever heard.“The tea’s just steeping.”
Elena moved through the kitchen, noting the gleaming countertops, the alphabetized spice rack, the dish towels folded in perfect thirds.Order imposed on the world through sheer force of will.She paused at the entrance to the breakfast nook adjoining the kitchen, taking in the scene—the small table set with Brenda’s grandmother’s china, a plate of shortbread cookies arranged in concentric circles, two linen napkins folded into precise triangles.
Brenda looked up from her chair.“I’m glad you came over,” she said, gesturing to the chair across from her.“We’ve got so much to discuss.”
