I looked across the car at him. He was scared to death. "Hey, Jere. You know we've got this, don't you? There's not a doubt in your mind that we've got this. Is there?"
He looked at me. I reached out and pushed that lock off his forehead. "Your uncle is the best detective on the planet. Your honorary aunt has NFP and piles of money. And I will spend every bit of it, or cash it all out and fly you to Mexico myself before I'll see you do time for this. You know that, right?"
Some of the tension eased from his eyes.
“So you punched him in the face,” I said, so he’d pick up the story where he’d left off.
“Knocked him right on his ass.” I could tell he wanted to smile a little.
I nodded and said, “Nice.”
Probably not the best response, there, Rachel.
I know, Inner Bitch, but you gotta admit–
Yeah. Asshat had it coming.
“The drinking, though. That had already started up again before that, yes?”
“Started the day I started writing the paper. Last week. I thought I had a handle on it. And then yesterday...I don’t know, I just fell. And you're right, I don’t remember much about yesterday or last night.”
“When did you find out he was missing?”
My roommate, Raj, said a cop had cornered him on campus to ask about Professor Ashton, and all kinds of questions about me. Raj said he never went home last night. Hadn’t been seen since. So I took a shower, drank a couple of sports drinks, and took a handful of Ibuprofen.”
I nodded, listening, feeling him. He was telling the truth as far as he knew it.
“Were you worried that something might’ve happened to him?”
“I figured he just didn’t want to show his face on campus with a black eye. I finished off the bottles I had on hand and went to sleep. Next thing I know, there’s a cop at the door asking me to come in for questioning.”
I nodded. “And you don’t remember leaving your dorm room after you punched the professor?"
“No.”
“But?” I said, because he’d said it, just not out loud.
“But I don’t remember much else, either.”
“Was your car in the same spot where you left it?” Parking spots on campus were like gold.
“I don’t remember where I parked it, so…” He lifted his head, looked me right in the eye. “I couldn’t have killed him, though. You’d know if I did, right?”
“Of course I would,” I said, because he needed to hear it. “You didn’t kill anybody Jere. You’re good right to your marrow.” I pulled into traffic again.
“They probably think I did it, though. Because of Mom.”
“Your mom broke under pressure. I don’t think it was DNA, I think it was stress.”
I felt his eyes on me. I felt him wanting to say more. I tried to feel for what it was, but Jere poked the Sirius button and started singing under his breath to an acoustic version of Marry That Girl on Coffee House, my favorite channel. He preferred hip hop.
He didn’t want me to know what he’d been about to say just then. And apparently he’d figured out a way to keep my nose out of his head.
I’ll be damned, Inner Bitch whispered.
I know. Hell, I wonder if Josh has figured out how to do that yet?
10
“You know damn well you can’t be involved in this case.”
Vanessa Cantone was a professional. Mason knew she had to be. You couldn’t look like she did and be taken seriously as a cop otherwise. But she wasn’t a hard ass. Not deep down.
“I’m already involved in this case,” Mason said.
“As a parent, yes–”
“As a cop.” Mason paced the length of her office, expressing with his hands. “Middle-aged white guy. Married with kids. Missing without a trace. Sound familiar?”
She frowned so hard her eyebrows touched. “You mean the Riverside Strangler?”
“He has a name now? I missed the memo.”
“Mason, there’s no evidence this is related–”
“Rachel thinks it is.” It was an outright lie and he blurted it anyway. Anything to get the focus off his kid. Vanessa was one of a small number of people who knew about Rachel’s ability. And she believed in it. It had saved her life once.
Fair or not, the lie worked, at least enough to distract Vanessa from throwing him out of the office. She looked at him hard and he looked right back. Then she slammed a hand on her desk and said, “I don’t even know if you’re telling the truth or saying that to save your kid.”
Damn, she knew him better than he thought.
She let her head fall forward. Some of her hair had come loose from its clip, and fell over her intense brown eyes. “Hell, I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same if it was Bunny.”
Tension-laden silence stretched. He decided to ease it. “Rachel says if you don’t quit calling her Bunny, she’s going to end up pole dancing.”
“That sounds like something Rachel would say.”
“Jeremy didn’t do anything to his professor, Vanessa. He’s a good kid. You know that.” Maybe first names were a good idea here. Maybe it would ease her off her professional high horse and get her feeling like a fellow parent. Like a friend.
“He’s been drinking hard, Mason,” she said, first-naming him right back. “I could smell it across the room, even though his hair was still wet from the shower.”
He’d smelled it too, and seen it in Jeremy’s puffy eyes and red nose. “That’s not unusual in college, is it?”
“No.”
“Jeremy’s been through a lot, you know. Lost both his parents.”
“Both to mental illness and violent behavior.”
She had him. Why had he brought it up? Mental illness on both sides, father dead of suicide, mom in a locked psych unit, probably for the rest of her life. That made it look worse for Jeremy, not better. Imagine if she knew Jere’s dad had been a serial killer.
“That kind of thing can be handed down,” she said, like she’d heard his last thought out loud.
It startled him so bad he snapped his head up fast, and there was probably fear written all over his face. She wasn’t referring to his thoughts, of course, but to her own words about mental illness. That could be passed down.
But she’d planted an icy seed deep in his mind. Could that kind of thing be in someone’s DNA? Was there a serial killer gene?
He’d never seen any hint of darkness in the boys. Then again, he’d never seen it in his brother, either.
No. No, the boys were fine. And he had seen it in Eric, he just hadn't known what he'd been seeing.
This was ridiculous. He was pissed at his boss for putting ideas like that into his mind. It was sick, was what it was. “I want everything you’ve got on Professor Ashton. Full file.”
“It’s a conflict of interest, Mason. You want me to lose my job?” She walked around her desk and said, “You need to go on leave."
"I can't–"
"It's not optional. Rosie can step into the lead on the Riverside Strangler investigation. I'm going to oversee the missing professor personally. Go home."
"How long?"
"Until I tell you. Now, I need some coffee, before I drop. No freaking lackeys around at this hour to make copies. Had to do it all myself.” She took her coffee cup off her desk, moved a manila folder to the front edge. Then she walked out of the office and left him there alone.
He looked at the folder. It had Ashton, James printed on its tab. And his irritation with his boss faded a shade or two.
He picked up the file, tucked it inside his jacket, and pulled the door closed behind him when he left.
The best smell in the known universe is the combination of coffee brewing and bacon cooking. That’s the scent that woke me up. I opened my eyes, inhaled deeply, and smiled. Nothing like a little motivation to get my ass out of bed. Myrtle lay beside me, horizontally across Mason’s vacant pillow, her butt aimed at my face.
“Hey,” I sa
id. “You smell that, Myrt?”
Her head rose, and her nose twitched, and then she sprang up onto all fours and ran to the edge of the bed.
“Whoa! Wait!” I grabbed her before she could dive over the side. I swear to God, my geriatric, blind bully thinks she’s Underdog sometimes.
I put her portable stairs right in front of her, then spotted her while she waddled down them. Going down stairs is hard on bulldogs, because they’re so top heavy. As she went down, her back feet barely touched. I’d tried, once, to just scoop her off the bed onto the floor, but she’d detested it. It was the only time I’d ever heard her growl. I figured it must hurt her and never tried it again. If my bulldog wanted stairs, my bulldog would have stairs.
I pulled on my flannel robe, stepped into comfy slippers, and headed down to get in on the stuff that smelled so good, Myrtle close beside me the whole way. We stepped into the kitchen, just as my sexy man finished filling a giant coffee mug. He turned, handed it to me. I kissed his cheek, and took my usual seat, relieved. He'd been mad at me for waiting two days to tell him I'd gone to Dilmun and run into Gary. I'd been mad at him for knowing about it the whole time and not saying so. But today, it felt like we were fine. Thank God.
There was a laptop and a file folder in front of me.
“Thanks for getting up with Josh,” I said.
“I didn’t get up with Josh. I slept til ten,” Mason said.
“He got himself off to school? My God, we’re horrible parents.”
“Thirteen is plenty old enough to get himself off to school,” Mason said.
“Well, yeah, he can do it. But jeeze, somebody oughta at least say good morning, make sure his shoes match and tell him to have a great day.” I closed my eyes. “I’ll make it up to him.”
“You’ll buy him something.”
“Great idea! What time did you get in?”
“Three, I think. I don’t know why I came to bed, I barely slept. You were out cold, though.”
“I slugged back a vodka diet to help me drift off.” He gave me a look, and I said, “Right before I locked every trace of liquor in my office safe, behind my locked office door, across from which I surreptitiously taped a strand of my own hair, which will be broken in twain, should the portal be breeched. Plus, I told Jere if he touches my stash, I’ll kick his skinny ass. Is this Professor Asshat?” I flipped open the folder to see a headshot.
“Yeah. I thought we’d start digging over breakfast.” He was sliding eggs onto slices of warm, buttery toast.
I started reading, sipping coffee, thinking life was pretty good, even when we were facing something awful.
Mason brought two plates to the table, sat beside me and turned the laptop his way.
“He lived in a nice neighborhood,” I said.
Mason craned his neck to read, then typed rapidly. “You want satellite view or street level?”
“Street.” I shoved my chair closer.
We leaned together, looking at an arrogant Georgian with black accents and trim. Three-car garage, detached with a connecting covered walkway. The landscaping was sparse. Crewcut hedges across the front. Grass mown to within an inch of its soil, not a blade out of place. Blacktop so perfect it must’ve been installed yesterday.
“Nice place.”
He clicked off and began searching the net for mention of the professor himself, and in a few minutes, he was clicking through photos of the man, and his wife, and his little girls at various stages of childhood, in school, at sporting events.
“It’s creepy how easy that is,” I said.
“Everyone’s gone public these days. Makes my job a lot easier.”
“I bet.” I returned to my file folder, flipping a page, looking for dirt, not finding any.
“Can I help?” Jeremy had come in, looking like he belonged in rehab.
“I thought you’d sleep in,” I said.
“I would’ve–”
“Whatddaya mean sleep in? It’s noon already!” Josh said. He came running from somewhere, pushed past Jeremy in the doorway, and slid onto a chair. “Where’s mine?”
“We thought you were in school,” Mason said. “Which begs the question, why aren’t you?”
“Nobody woke me up.”
With that Mason sent me a look, as if to imply this was my fault. “What? I thought you got him up. I told you that.”
He closed his eyes, shook his head. Apparently, I wasn’t getting it. He said, “Nobody should have to get him up. He’s thirteen. He has a cell phone with the same alarm clock app everyone else's has.”
I blinked at him. “You’re right.” Then I looked sternly at Josh while I slid my plate over in front of him and went to the stove to cook a couple more eggs for Jeremy and me. “Josh, from now on, it’s your responsibility to get yourself up in the morning. Start setting your alarm.”
“Okay,” he said slow, like he wasn’t so sure about it. “But I might need backup in case I forget.”
“Eat quick, and I’ll drive you in,” Mason said.
“Really, Mace?” I asked. “Cause it’s already after noon, and by the time he eats and showers and changes it’ll be one-thirty. Is it really worth all that for an hour and a half of school?”
Mason rolled his eyes. “It’s a mile down the road.”
Jeremy said, “Don’t cook me anything, Aunt Rache.” He poured himself a coffee, sat down and started picking through the file while I cracked some eggs into a pan and popped in more toast.
“Toast or oatmeal, Jere? You need something in your stomach.”
“To soak up the booze,” Josh said, shoveling my perfect sunny-side up eggs at the speed of sound.
Everyone looked at him. He noticed, stopped shoveling, and said, “What, you guys think I’m in a coma while I’m asleep?” around a mouthful. I poured him some OJ and set it in front of him. He took a gulp, swiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “So why were you in jail, Jere?”
“I wasn’t in jail. They just wanted to ask me some questions.”
“‘Bout what?”
“One of my teachers up and vanished. They think something might’ve happened to him.”
“And they think you know something about it?” Josh asked. He set his fork down. “Why would they think that, Jere?”
“Because I punched him in the face, and I can’t remember for sure where I was after that, because I was drinking.”
“Jeremy!”
“No, Uncle Mace. Protecting us from the truth about things never did us any good. It’s not doing me any good, that’s for sure. I mean, look at the mess I’m in.”
“You’re stupid, that’s why you’re in a mess.” Josh stood up so fast his chair tipped over backwards.
“Josh, hon–” I got up and put a hand on his arm, but he shrugged it off.
“He knows how much trouble drinking gets him into. Jeeze, Jere, we already went through all this. Now you’re gonna start it all up again?”
“No. I’m not.”
“But you are! You did! What if you go to jail? Huh?” His face was turning bright red. “What am I gonna do if you go to jail, Jere? Don’t you think about anything but yourself anymore?” He whirled and stormed out of the house, slamming the back door behind him.
I stood there blinking in shock after him. Mason came right up beside me, one hand on my shoulder. We looked at each other, then turned and looked at Jeremy.
“I’ll talk to him.” Jeremy got up, his coffee mug in his hand. “But after that, when we're alone, I want to know the truth about my father.” He met Mason’s eyes and held them. “I need to know. I need to know more than you need to not tell me. So…just tell me.”
Then he followed his brother out the door, taking his coffee, bitter and black, with him.
11
Jeremy came to us after breakfast. Mason and I were cleaning up the kitchen, and Josh was outside with the dogs. He said, "I'm going to meet Celia Moon and Chief Cantone at Celia's office to give my statement," he announced. No pre
amble, no nothing.
Mason scowled. "I thought we were doing that here."
"Josh is here. I don't want him around for that."
"I don't either," I said.
"I should be there." Mason wiped his hands on a towel, dropped it on the counter.
"No," Jeremy said. "Look, there's no reason for you to be. And frankly, I don't think your hostility toward my lawyer does me a lot of good, Uncle Mace."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"I'm an adult. I'm going to meet my lawyer and give my statement. There is nothing for me to do but tell the truth. I don't need help for that. I was alone in my dorm room and I was drinking and I never left until the police came for me. That's it. That's all. It's simple and its honest. I'll have time to go over it all with Celia before the chief gets there."
Mason looked like he wanted to shake him. Then he looked at me.
I shrugged, and said to Jere, "It's really hard for us not to take hold of this thing for you. Do you get that?"
"Cause that's what you do. You protect us from everything. From the truth about our father to our own bad decisions. I did this, though. And I need to deal with it. Myself. Like a man. And I need you to let me."
I looked from him to Mason. Mason looked like he was in physical pain. But he said, "Okay. All right. If that's how you want to handle it."
"It's how I want to handle it. When I get back, I'm gonna take Josh out on the boat for the afternoon. This is tearing him up."
"Okay."
"Lifejackets are not optional," I reminded him, like he was ten. God, no wonder he was rebelling a little.
"They're also the law," he replied. "I'm sorry I brought all this down on us. But I'm gonna do the right thing from now on."
I hugged him hard. He was two inches taller than Mason, and my head barely reached his chest. He was still a skinny teenager. He was still a kid. I wanted to take on the world to protect him.
“I don’t like them on the water when we’re not home,” Mason said for the tenth time since we’d exited I-81.
Jeremy had gone to the meeting with Celia and the chief alone, and we'd sweat bullets the whole time. It wasn't long. Two hours and he was back, with a copy of his statement for Mason. His version of a peace offering, I guessed.
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