Brown and de Luca Collection, Volume 1

by Maggie Shayne

  She didn’t seem to hear him. “He’s here, Mason. The killer followed us here. Somehow he knows. He’s coming for my eyes.”

  The angel fell from her hands back into the box, and Mason reached down to take it from her lap, along with the lid, the clipping and the wrapping paper. He was careful not to touch anything more than he had to.

  “Lock the doors,” he said for her ears only. “Do it as casually as you can while I take care of this, all right?”

  She nodded, got up to wander casually over to the front door and turn the dead bolt, then picked up her dropped coat and hat, and put them away in the closet. He knew she was checking to make sure it held only coats. No organ thieves. Mason looked around at the others. No one was paying her any mind, so he took the evidence up to his room before anyone could ask questions. He deposited it in the top drawer of his nightstand, which would do until he could grab a zipper bag from the kitchen without drawing undue attention.

  And then he took the time to search the entire second floor, every bedroom—including under the beds. Every closet. Every bathroom. Everything.

  He didn’t find a killer hiding anywhere, nor any evidence there had ever been one around. He did find a bottle of Jim Beam in Jeremy’s closet, tucked in the back behind a carefully placed gym bag.

  He took the bottle, shaking his head slowly, then walked it to the bathroom, tossed the cap into the wastebasket and poured the whiskey down the sink. Then he jotted a note, rolled it up and tucked it into the bottle. He did not need another complication right now.

  He was scared, and he had a lot to handle in very short order. He had to get hold of Scott Douglas and have a frank conversation with him about how long he’d been seeing Marie, and who he’d told that he would be coming up here to meet her. He had to get a stronger read on the guy, see whether he could possibly be a cold-blooded murderer, and whether he was in the medical field and had ready access to succinylcholine. He had to get the angel brooch to a forensics lab to check it for trace evidence—fingerprints, fibers, a stray piece of DNA—and get a handwriting analysis on the gift card. He had to figure out where one of those pins could be bought and who had bought this one. He had to fill Rosie in on everything. And now he had to deal with a seventeen-year-old sneaking booze.

  And he had to do it all while keeping Rachel and his family safe, and not letting on that there might be a killer after them. Marie and the kids had been through too much to handle news like that until and unless it was absolutely necessary.

  It was a tall order. He didn’t know if he was up to it, or if keeping the family in the dark was still the best option. For tonight, though, it would have to be.

  He checked every window on the second floor, made sure there was no attic in the place and then did a thorough search of the ground floor, trying not to be obvious.

  He knew he’d failed when Misty, sharp as a tack, asked what on earth he was looking for.

  He couldn’t help the quick look that passed between him and Rachel, but he looked away fast and thought faster. “My cell phone charger. Damned if I know where I left it.”

  “Well, I doubt you left it in the coat closet.”

  Rachel forced a laugh, though it sounded more like she had something caught in her throat. “You never know with this guy, Misty. He’s so absentminded sometimes that I’m afraid I’ll find his car keys in the fridge.” It was a blatant lie, and they both knew it.

  Misty frowned from one of them to the other. The girl was too perceptive to be fooled so easily. “That must make being a big-shot detective a real challenge.” She sighed, shrugged, turned away. “I’m gonna see if Marie needs any help with the lasagna she’s making for dinner. That woman can cook like no one I know.”

  “Ask her if there’s enough for company,” Mason said. “I want to invite Rosie and Marlayna over tonight. And, um…and Scott Douglas.”

  Misty’s eyes widened, and she sent a look at Jeremy.

  He caught on and tugged his earbuds out. “What?”

  “Mason, I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Rachel said.

  “Don’t think what’s a good idea?” Jeremy asked. “Why’s everyone looking at me?”

  Josh pulled out his earbuds, too. “What’s going on?”

  “Your uncle wants to invite that Scott guy for dinner,” Misty said.

  Jeremy’s jaw dropped, and his brows drew close. “No fucking way.”

  Rachel glared at him. “Watch your mouth, kid.”

  “You should talk!”

  Mason glanced toward the kitchen, where pots and pans were banging and a vent fan was running, and lowered his voice. “Look, I’m as uncomfortable with this guy as anyone else. But don’t you think the best way for me to figure out where he’s coming from and what his motives are would be to hang around him a little bit?”

  “I think the best idea would be to tell him to take a hike and never come back,” Jeremy said.

  “We could tell him that,” Mason replied. “But do you really think he’d do it?”

  “Then I’ll make him do it.”

  Rachel rolled her eyes. “Jeremy, stop. Your mom has lost so much. I know you think you’re being loyal to your father, but you have to remember that he chose to leave her. She didn’t choose to be alone. He took that choice away from her. From all of you.”

  “I’m not listening to this.” Jeremy got up off the sofa and started for the stairs, but Rachel jumped up and got in his face.

  “You need to hear this, Jer. I’m really sorry it’s harsh, but you’re not being fair to your mother, and your father’s beyond caring.”

  “Listen to her, Jer,” Mason said quickly. “She knows this stuff. She wrote a whole book on it. Whatever was broken in your dad when he was here, it’s better now.”

  Rachel met his eyes and gave the most subtle shake of her head that she could possibly give. Don’t go there. But it was too late. Jeremy was looking at her now, and his expression dared her to try her best platitudes on him.

  “My father was an asshole. He’s probably in hell.”

  Mason’s throat swelled shut when Jeremy said that. His eyes burned. His brother was a serial killer. Of course he was in hell.

  But Rachel didn’t even flinch. She put her full focus on Jeremy. “Why do you think your father would be in hell, Jeremy?”

  Jeremy averted his eyes, and for the first time Mason wondered if the boy knew more than any of them realized.

  He looked at Rachel again, pleading with her with his eyes. And she conceded with a nod. “I don’t believe in hell, you know. You don’t have a body when you die. You don’t feel pain. There’s no torture, just bliss.”

  Marie came as far as the doorway that separated the kitchen from the living room and stopped, but Rachel didn’t see her. She was focused on Jeremy.

  “Your father’s okay, Jer. He’s better than he ever was. Whatever flaws he had when he was alive, they’re gone now. Death erases all that. Heals it. He would want you to be happy, and he would want your mom to be happy, too.”

  “He was a selfish asshole incapable of loving anyone but himself.”

  “Jeremy!” Marie’s face had gone white.

  “It’s true!” Jeremy yelled. “He was always out doing his own thing, coming home in the middle of the night, never with any kind of explanation. Like you’ve been doing lately, Mom. Seeing that freaking Douglas guy, right?”

  “Jeremy, don’t do this, please.”

  He had tears in his eyes now. “You want to invite him to dinner, Uncle Mason? Fine, invite him. I’ll leave. I’ll go bunk with Marty and Chelle at the lodge.” He pushed past Rachel and up the stairs to his room.

  “Who the hell are Marty and Chelle?” Mason asked.

  Misty spoke up. “Just some friends we made out on the slopes today.”

  He
shot Rachel a look. She jumped in. “What do you know about them, Misty?”

  Misty frowned at her. “Marty is twenty-three, a physical therapist. He and Chelle are engaged. She works in a day-care center. They’re from Erie. I didn’t get their last names or social security numbers.”

  Rachel sighed. Mason wondered if a PT guy would have access to a drug used in surgery. Maybe.

  “God, what’s wrong with you two lately?” Misty demanded.

  Mason didn’t answer. He was worried about Jeremy and half wished he hadn’t dumped out the kid’s booze. He could probably use a swig about now.

  “What set him off this time?” Marie asked.

  “I did,” Mason said. “I’m sorry, Marie. I suggested inviting Scott for dinner tonight, along with Rosie and Marlayna.”

  Her hand fluttered to her chest. “You did?”

  “Yeah. But it’s too soon. I didn’t think it would send him off the deep end like that.”

  She shook her head rapidly, then crossed the room and wrapped Mason in a hug. “Thank you for that, Mason. Thank you.”

  He nodded, hugged her back, then let her go and turned to Joshua, who was sitting on the sofa, right where he’d been. His eyes were red and wet. “Are you okay, Josh?”

  The boy blinked. “I…I didn’t think Dad was a…selfish asshole. He was just Dad.” He inhaled a little brokenly. “I miss him.”

  “I know you do. I know.” Mason went to Josh and sat down, putting an arm around him and hugging him close. He sent a look at Rachel, a look that begged for her help. She held his gaze and shook her head clearly this time, a definitive no.

  “Rachel, please,” he said aloud. “I know you have things to say on this. I read The Truth About Death. Tell Josh what you wrote there.”

  She closed her eyes, and he felt her anger. He understood it, too. She said she didn’t believe the things she wrote about so beautifully. She claimed to think it was all bull, although he didn’t think she did. Not really. How could anyone write so eloquently and so convincingly about something they didn’t really believe? It was beyond him. She was a puzzle.

  “Please?” he asked again.

  Sighing heavily, Rachel went to the sofa and sat on the boy’s other side. “Okay. So, Josh, this is just my theory, okay? I don’t think people go away when they die. They come out of their bodies like a butterfly coming out of a cocoon.”

  “It’s not like that, though.” Josh’s voice was raspy. “A butterfly is still here. You can see it, touch its wings.”

  “I know, but just hear me out on this, okay? See, we’re used to being able to experience each other with our five senses. Seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, touching, right?”

  Josh sniffed hard and lifted his head. “Right. Except for tasting.”

  She laughed a little. Marie came closer, her expression rapt. “But we have way more senses than just those five. I learned that from being blind for so long.”

  “Like what?” Josh asked softly.

  “Well, like when you dream. You see things in your dreams, right? But your eyes are closed. I saw things in my dreams even when I was blind. Really clear things. Bright colors, light and shadow, people the way I imagined they looked. You can hear things in your dreams, too, but you’re not hearing with your ears, are you?”

  He frowned. “I never thought of that.” He frowned hard. “How does that work, anyway?”

  “When we’re sleeping, we forget all about what we think is possible and what we think is impossible. So those beliefs don’t get in the way like they do when we’re awake. All our limits are gone in our dreams. We can talk to famous people, we can fly around the world, we can do anything. I think that’s the way we have to learn how to experience the people we love after they die. With our other senses, the ones we don’t know we have and hardly ever use.”

  “In our dreams?” Josh asked. “We just tell ourself to dream about them and then we do?”

  “Yeah, if we’re persistent and patient. But you can do it when you’re awake, too. I think we do it all the time and just don’t recognize it for what it is. Like, do you ever see something and suddenly it hits you what your dad would have thought of it? Sometimes you can even imagine what he would say or do, or how he would look if he was there?”

  Joshua’s tears were drying fast. He nodded hard. “I was just thinking that on the water slides today, how if he was here, he would wait for me at the bottom, or maybe he’d go down it with me and how loud he would laugh. I heard it in my head.”

  “That’s exactly what I mean. That wasn’t pretend. That wasn’t make-believe. He was really there, laughing and watching you on the slides. You were experiencing your dad through your other senses, the ones we don’t even know we have. We lump all those senses together and call them the imagination, but they’re not imaginary. They’re real.”

  His eyes widened slightly, and the most serene look came over his face. He turned to look at his mother, who was standing behind the sofa with her hands on his shoulders. “You think she’s right?”

  Marie nodded. “I talk to your father all the time. And I try to imagine what he’d say back to me. I really hope she’s right. I really hope one of these days I hear him answer me.”

  “Choose to believe it, Josh,” Rachel said. “Choose to believe it, and then it’s as real as you want it to be.”

  Josh smiled a little. “Thanks, Rache. You’re…” He shook his head, then looked at Mason. “She’s so awesome. I hope you guys never break up.” Then he bounded off the sofa and ran upstairs, maybe to try to pass what he’d just heard along to Jeremy. When they all turned to follow his progress, Mason saw Jeremy duck quickly out of sight. He’d been near the top of the stairs, listening.

  Marie met Rachel’s eyes. “Thank you for that. I think it actually helped him.”

  Rachel only nodded. Her eyes were tearing up.

  Marie said, “Mason, don’t worry about inviting Scott tonight. The kids need time. But if you want to have Marlayna and Rosie, there will be plenty of lasagna.” Then she walked slowly back into the kitchen, leaving Mason and Rachel on the sofa, with the space Joshua had occupied still between them. He looked at her.

  And she looked back, but her look was angry. “How could you make me do that?”

  “Comfort a grieving child?”

  “Lie to a grieving child. Mason, you know it’s all bullshit as well as I do.”

  “No, Rachel. I don’t. How can you even doubt it, after what we’ve been through? The way Eric’s organs…” He lowered his voice, leaned closer. “The way they somehow transferred his evil to the recipients. The way you can see through their eyes. You know there’s more to life than what we can see and touch. You have to know it. You couldn’t write about it the way you do if you didn’t believe it on some level.”

  She shook her head. “You know what I think this is?”

  “What?” He immediately realized he probably shouldn’t have asked.

  “I think you’re starting to fall for me, and that I’m not really the kind of woman you want, so you’re trying to convince yourself that I’m something else. But I’m not, Mason. I regurgitate the garbage bestsellers have been spouting for years, put my own spin on it and laugh all the way to the bank. Period.”

  She was absolutely right about one thing, he thought, staring at her. He was starting to fall for her. But the rest was all crap. He knew the woman better than she knew herself. He’d seen the true believer in her, even if she insisted on keeping that part of herself buried. And he wondered why.

  But he thought he’d pushed her enough for the moment. There was a lot going on, and she was stressed, on edge. He shouldn’t push her too hard right now.

  “I need to call Rosie.”

  “Yeah. I’m going to spend some time online. See if I can find out where the angel pin came
from.” She got up and headed up the stairs. “Have Rosie check to see if they carry them in the gift shop on his way out, will you?”

  “Yeah.” He wasn’t sure, but he thought maybe he’d made a mistake with her just now. Maybe a big one. He hoped he could keep her alive long enough to fix it.

  CHAPTER 11

  Wednesday, December 20

  Marie’s lasagna was lacking something. Attention, I thought, my grim mood getting grimmer. I didn’t blame the woman. She had a lot on her mind, with her new boyfriend so close yet out of reach, and her teenage PITA son Jeremy pouting in his room.

  Could be worse. She could be aware that her attacker is somewhere at this damned lodge, waiting for his moment. If she did know about it, though, it would probably comfort her to know he’ll come for me first. After all, she didn’t get a creepy fucking Secret Santa present, did she?

  Misty insisted on taking a plate of lasagna up to the shithead. I thought he should go hungry until he could quit being a jerk, but what did I know? Yes, that was hard and cold. Yes, he’d recently lost his father. But people die. My parents did, when I wasn’t much older than Jeremy was now. Their first vacation without a kid—a cruise they’d always wanted. I’d flown the coop and was in my third year of college, Tommy was off finding himself in California, and Sandra was safely married with six-year-old twins. Mom and Dad thought it was the end of the world when she got pregnant during her freshman year, but it all turned out just fine. She was happy. Jim was perfect. The girls were thriving.

  Everything was right with the world, and then they took a cruise, and then they were dead. People just die. It happens. Life sucks sometimes. What Jeremy wasn’t getting was that you don’t have to turn into an asshole over it.

  Although I suppose some would argue that was what I did. I guess.

  Misty took Jeremy’s meal upstairs and her own with it, and I wished I could get rid of Marie and her younger, more pleasant son so Mason and I could hash out the case with Rosie. Probably Marlayna would have to go, too.

  She was a nice woman, and funny as hell now that she was starting to get over being all starstruck around me. She was tall, solid, in an athletic way. Bigger than me in every dimension, but still lean and toned, and I’d bet my last nickel you couldn’t guess her age and come anywhere close. I liked her.