The last afternoon Violet Vale spent with her brother was practically seared into her memory. The otherwise idyllic memory had become fowl and haunting. It began at noon on Tuesday. By her account they met for roughly an hour and a half. She'd told Raoul everything she remembered, even the minor things she thought didn't matter. It was enough for the detective to paint the perfect picture of what happened.
The café was busier than usual for a Tuesday afternoon. Violet had gotten there first, which almost never happened. Virgil had this habit of arriving before everyone, like he was afraid of making people wait.
She'd sat down and checked her phone. She pulled up his contact, preparing to be smug about it. When she looked up he was already sliding into the seat across from her.
"You're late," she said.
"I'm exactly on time." He set his jacket on the back of the chair. "You're early."
"Only by a few minutes. I'm never early."
"And yet, here we are. "
She'd thrown a sugar packet at him that he barely caught between two fingers.
They'd ordered drinks to keep them going. Something for her she couldn't now recall, and chamomile tea for him.
Soon they'd fallen into the easy back-and-forth that had been the rhythm of her whole life. She told him about a venue she'd been thinking about approaching, a new one on the east side with good acoustics and a decent booking manager. He listened to what she was saying, head slightly tilted, like he was finding the meter in ordinary conversation.
"You should do it," he said.
"We should do it."
He smiled at that, earnestly rather than deflecting. "Sure."
She'd asked him about the will reading. It was due in a few weeks, and the atmosphere around it had been quietly miserable for months. He shrugged in the way that meant he'd thought about it more than he was letting on.
"It'll be fine." he said. He almost sounded convincing.
"Dad's being a nightmare."
"Dad's always a nightmare." He turned his cup in his hands. "He doesn't have as much leverage as he thinks he does."
She looked at him. "What does that mean?"
"It means don't let him get to you." He said simply. "He won't win. Just relax."
She knew when Virgil was closing a door. She didn't like it, but she let him have this.
They'd talked about a song she was writing. She'd been stuck on the bridge for two weeks and she'd brought her notebook to show him. It was her favorite notebook, one with the water-damaged cover he'd given her for her birthday three years ago. She slid it across the table and he looked at it for a long moment, chin in his hand.
"You don't need me on this one," he said.
"I want you on it."
"Violet." He pushed the notebook back toward her, gently. "You've already got it down pat. A bit more time and I'm sure you'll find the melody before you know it."
She'd argued with him about it. He'd leaned back and given her an easygoing smile. No matter what she said he didn't budge an inch.
Then a while after that the two found themselves talking about their ever busy elder brother.
"Think he'd want lapels for his birthday?" Virgil asked almost casually. Violet almost choked on her drink while biting back her laughter.
"What like a novelty gift? It'll be something interesting on his usual drab greys and browns." she suggested, trying to stifle her laughter.
"He'd kill me if I tried."
"It'd be good for a laugh at least. We haven't had a good one in a while."
Virgil chuckled, though his smile didn't reach his ears. "Knowing Vincent, he's already got his birthday plans sorted."
"Right. Party of one, reservation for 7pm please."
"To be fair, he probably really needs the peace quiet once in a while."
"Of course. How else is he supposed to recharge his batteries? Brooding is energy intensive you know."
They talked for a while longer, drifting from miscellaneous topics one by one. It had been a while since Virgil had even left his room. Violet hadn't heard his voice this much in a while. It felt almost cathartic.
When the bill came he took it before she could reach for it. She made a noise of protest but he shrugged and shook his head.
"I've got this one. Let me pay." he offered, and how could she say no?
He hadn't touched his tea the whole meet up but grabbed it to go instead. She walked with him to the door and they stood in that particular patch of afternoon light that only happens in autumn. The rays of low and golden light were both warm and slightly unkind to the eyes. She'd hugged him the way she always did, and this time he held on a beat longer than usual. She'd noticed and accepted it as a warmer version of the afternoon's golden embrace.
"See you at rehearsal." he said with a light pat on her back.
She pulled back and looked at him. Just for a second. He looked like himself. He was settled and charismatic. He looked relieved. She'd thought at the time that whatever had been weighing on him had finally resolved itself. Perhaps the shadow of mum's passing had finally lifted. Maybe their lunch had done that. She'd been glad.
She watched him go. He didn't look back.
Violet had stopped talking by the time she reached that part. She sat in the green room, her mug long gone cold, shoes still off. Raoul hadn't moved either, having listened to her every word intently.
No matter how hard Violet tried, there was nothing wrong that afternoon. No slipped word, no missed look, no moment where any hint of it showed. No matter what she thought or show she looked it, she could never see the signs of what would happen next.
And to the good detective, that seemed to be exactly the point.